The Watchmaker's Daughter (Glass and Steele Book 1) (21 page)

"Ruckus is an American word, and Mr. Dorchester claimed to be English. From Manchester, in fact, although his accent was all wrong. I should have guessed from the beginning, but I…I wanted to believe him."

I couldn't meet Matt's gaze. I didn't want him seeing my shame. I'd wanted to believe that Mr. Dorchester liked me for me and not because I could give him something. I was such a bloody fool. Once again, I'd been blinded by charm and my own pathetic need to be liked. The truth stung but it didn't bring tears; only anger and a resolve to make Dorchester pay for his crimes.

"A word?" Nunce grunted. "That's not evidence, miss. Go on. Out you go."

"India?" The concern in Matt's quiet voice had me looking up as Constable Stanley took my elbow. "Will you be all right?"

I straightened my spine. "Of course. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have a commissioner to visit before he goes home for the day."

Matt smiled.

Constable Stanley escorted me to the station's entrance, but I stopped dead in the doorway. Mr. Dorchester stood at the counter, speaking with the bobby on duty. "That's him," I whispered, grasping Constable Stanley's sleeve. "That's the real Dark Rider."

The pimply faced youth eyed Dorchester. "You sure, miss?"

"Of course. Arrest him."

He glanced back at the door now shut behind us. "You heard the inspector. One word isn't enough to arrest a man. Besides, he looks decent enough to me."

"Can you not question him? Ask him what river flows through Manchester, or some other fact about the city that a resident should know."

"What river flows through Manchester?"

I sighed. "The Irwell. Go on. Speak to him."

He didn't budge despite my push. "I must follow the inspector's orders, but I'll get his current address off him, if that'll satisfy you."

I was about to tell him that it wouldn't when Dorchester suddenly looked our way. My heart leapt into my throat. I tried not to react, but he must have seen something in my face because he did not smile in greeting as the kind Mr. Dorchester would have done. He scowled at the constable at my side.

"Go on," I said to the young bobby. "Go and speak with him now."

I walked off and nodded a greeting at Dorchester as I passed him. He touched the brim of his hat. The exchange was so stilted and formal that I suspected he knew exactly why I was there and what I thought of him.

I rushed out, determined to get far away from him as quickly as possible. The sun had dropped behind the buildings, shrouding the street in eerie gray-green shadows. I glanced over my shoulder, but Dorchester had not emerged from the police station.

I turned on to busy Piccadilly Street, where I blended in with the other pedestrians heading home or to railway stations and omnibus stops after work. There were many routes to Victoria Embankment from Vine Street, some of which would have brought me to New Scotland Yard faster, but I remained on the busier streets for safety. Even though several glances over my shoulder proved that Dorchester wasn't following me, I didn't want to take the risk.

There was something comforting about the imposing edifice of the clock tower that housed Big Ben in its belfry. It was visible beyond the new headquarters of the Metropolitan Police, and stood confidently amid the bustle of carriages, carts and pedestrians below, just as it had done all my life. My father used to bring me to see it and explain how the giant clock operated on the same principles as my own pocket watch.

A pocket watch that suddenly chimed in my reticule. A watch that had never chimed before and wasn't designed to.

I opened my reticule, but something smacked into me from behind, propelling me forward. It happened so fast, that I managed nothing more than a gasp before a gloved hand clamped over my mouth. In the inky shadows of a deep recessed doorway, he pressed my back against the cold bricks. Although I couldn't see his face, the man had the same height, build and scent of Dorchester. He must have known I would come here, and he had taken a quicker route.

"You stupid fool," he growled in a low voice that was very different to the one I was familiar with. It was hard and cruel with an American accent. "You should have kept your nose out of Glass's business. Out of
my
business."

How had I ever liked this man? I certainly was a fool to believe his story. I struggled against him but he was too strong, pressing his weight against me, grinding my shoulder blades into the stones. His gloved hand muffled my cries and, after a busy burst of traffic, the pavement was now empty of pedestrians.

Panic rose to my throat. I kicked out but my damned skirts got in the way. He pressed himself against me more, blocking my legs so that I couldn't kick at all. I was pinned against the wall, unable to move or make a sound.

"If you'd stayed out of it, I could have finally got my revenge on that scum. Yes, it was me who told the police he was the Dark Rider. It was the perfect plan. He gets arrested and tried here, well away from the friends who can help him. But then I learn he has the commissioner in his pocket too, so I know I have to act fast before he's released. I went to the police station to give him my parting gift." A click echoed around the stone doorway, followed by the whine of metal on metal. Something sharp bit into my neck above my collar. He had a knife—his "gift" to Matt, intended to go straight through his heart, no doubt.

I swallowed, shut my eyes and willed for someone to walk past, to see me at this evil man's mercy. But our clothing was dark and the streetlamps were not yet lit, and nobody passed by anyway.

"But they wouldn't let me see him, thanks to you, you little bitch. I know you told them about me. I could see it in that kid's eyes—and his chief's, when he came out. I only just got away after some quick talking."

I tried biting him, but only found a mouthful of leather glove.

He chuckled. His teeth flashed white in the darkness, and a glint shone in his eyes. "Do you know the man you're helping is a turncoat? He was an outlaw, too. He's got blood on his hands, has Glass. Lots of blood."

My breath hitched. My body stilled.

He chuckled again. "So he failed to mention it to his little lady friend, eh? He hates ordinary folk knowing. Hates that he's related to the Johnsons. But that ain't the worst of it, no ma'am. You think I'm bad, but he's worse. We've both killed men before, but at least I haven't murdered my own kin."

Bile surged up my throat. I choked on it, making my eyes water and my nose run. Tears pooled but didn't spill. He
must
be lying.

"Murdered his own grandfather in cold blood," Dorchester went on. "Glass could have got him arrested, like the others in the old man's posse, but he chose to shoot him instead. My little brother was one of Johnson's posse. Just a kid, he was, when they strung him up." He sniffed and wiped his nose on his shoulder. "So what do you think of that, Miss Prim? What do you think of your big handsome hero now?"

His hot breath scalded my forehead. The sharp point of his blade nicked my skin. Blood trickled into my collar. I whimpered and shut my eyes. My watch chimed again, louder this time. I prayed someone heard it and became curious.

But no one walked past.

"He ain't going to rescue you now," Dorchester said, chuckling. "He's all locked up, getting a taste of his own medicine. Pity he'll probably get out, sooner or later. But when he does, he's going to find his pretty little friend was the victim of just another London murderer, right here under Scotland Yard's nose. He took someone from me, so I'm going to take someone from him."

I wanted to scream at him that I hardly knew Matt, that I wasn't important to him. But I wasn't sure it would have mattered. Dorchester hated me for being on Matt's side, for bringing attention to him now. He wanted me dead, and no amount of pleading would make a difference. With my mouth covered, I couldn't even try.

He pressed the blade again. Fresh blood oozed and trickled down my neck. I shut my eyes and prayed for my soul. There was nothing more I could do.

D
orchester bared
his teeth then leaned in and licked the blood on my neck. I gagged. He laughed, and did it again, enjoying my horror. Enjoying toying with the rabbit in his snare.

My reticule moved in my hand. My heart leapt and I gave a muffled cry, but I clung onto it. If I'd not heard the watch chime earlier, if I'd not heard the word magic bandied about, I would have thought a mouse had found its way inside. But a small, mad part of me knew my watch was trying to get out.

My arms were pinned, but my hands had some movement. I managed to maneuver the reticule and insert my fingers into its drawstring opening to stretch it wide. My watch found its way into my hand. The silver case, usually cool to the touch, felt so warm that I could feel it through my glove.

My mind flashed back to the night of the poker game, when I'd thrown that carriage clock to knock out my attacker. A strange thought settled, one that I couldn't shake—it hadn't been my good aim or the force of my throw that propelled the clock into Dennison's forehead. It had been the clock itself, changing course to hit him. It had been magical.

Dorchester laughed again. He licked my ear then pressed the blade harder into my neck. I cried out, not because of the sharp pain, but because the watch fell from my hand. I'd lost it! No, no, NO!

Dorchester froze. The pressure from the blade eased. Then his body began to shake violently. He released me and stumbled back, convulsing. He looked like he was doing a crazed dance. He tried to speak, but no words came out. His eyes begged me to help, but I did not, even though I knew it was my watch causing him to act that way. The chain wrapped around his wrist and the watch itself pressed into his palm.

He fell to his knees as if someone stronger had shoved him down. Then he fell forward onto his face, smashing his nose into the stones.

I ran. "Help! Help me!"

Three men hurried up to me, two of them uniformed bobbies, the other declaring himself to be a detective inspector from the Yard.

I pointed to the doorway. My hand trembled and my voice wobbled, but I managed to tell them that a man by the name of Dorchester was in there. "He's the American outlaw known as the Dark Rider, and he attacked me. He—he wanted to silence me."

I could just make out their incredulous expressions in the dim light. They must have had a dozen questions for me, but they all knew the most pressing concern was capturing my attacker. They carefully approached the doorway, batons raised. I followed, not sure what we'd find.

The constable at the front lowered his baton. "Is he dead?"

I stumbled, sick to my stomach.
Please don't be dead
. I knew he would be hung for his crimes, either here or in America, but I didn't want to be the one to pull the trigger, so to speak. I didn't want his death to be a result of my…magic.

The bobbies dragged Dorchester out of the doorway. He groaned and stirred. I breathed a sigh of relief and edged closer, taking a wide berth around him until I was at the opening of the doorway. My watch glinted in the shadows. I bent and scooped it up. It not longer felt warm, but like an ordinary silver watch.

"What you got there, miss?" the inspector asked.

"My watch." I showed it to him. "I dropped it in the scuffle."

He nodded, satisfied. "How'd you overpower him?" he asked as the two constables lifted the dazed Dorchester between them.

"I…I suppose it was a combination of luck and timing." I dropped my watch back in the reticule. "Excellent timing."

"So what's this about him being the Dark Rider?"

"It's a long story, and I must speak with your commissioner about it immediately. Is he in his office?"

"The commissioner's busy, miss."

"I don't care!" Good lord, the man was more inaccessible than the queen. "I have vital information about the Dark Rider to give him, and only him. Take me to him now. Please," I added, more demurely.

He eyed me then the retreating backs of his constables carrying Dorchester. "You can tell me all about how you came to know that man is the Dark Rider while we walk up to the commissioner's office."

I was so thankful, I clasped his hand. "Come on then!"

I gave him my name and Matt's address as we walked, but told him I wanted to save the details about the Dark Rider for the commissioner's ears.

It was dark inside the building, and the inspector commanded one of the constables on duty to hand him a lamp. It threw out enough light for us to see our way through the corridors of New Scotland Yard. The smell of fresh paint followed us. The brass doorknobs and hooks for coats gleamed in the lamplight. Unlike Vine Street Police Station, the windows were not covered by bars. I wondered where they'd taken Dorchester and if he had recovered.

We entered an office on the second floor with furniture polished to a sheen and a portrait of the queen on the wall. It was empty, but appeared to be only an outer office that led to another. The inspector knocked, and I was relieved to hear a gruff voice order us to enter. The commissioner had not yet gone home.

Commissioner Munro was a distinguished looking gentleman with white hair on the sides of his head and gray on top. His white moustache curled at the ends. He wore a uniform with impressively decorated epaulettes, and a cap hung on a hook beside another portrait of the queen. Shrewd eyes watched me, but with curiosity, not unkindness.

He rose and we shook hands. The inspector made the introductions and gave him a brief account of our meeting. The commissioner invited me to sit and directed the inspector to make me some tea.

"No, thank you," I said. "Tea isn't necessary." Anything that delayed the commissioner getting Matt out of jail wasn't necessary.

"Miss Steele, why are you certain this fellow who attacked you is the Dark Rider?" the commissioner asked. "Perhaps he's simply an opportunist who saw a young woman walking alone at dusk."

"Directly outside New Scotland Yard? It would take a brazen attacker to be so bold. No, Commissioner, he's the Dark Rider and admitted as much to me."

He leaned back. The leather of his chair creaked. He rested his elbows on the chair arms and steepled his fingers. "The Dark Rider has already been caught. He's currently being held at—"

"Vine Street Police Station. Yes, yes, I know all of that. But that man isn't the Dark Rider."

Snowy eyebrows inched up his forehead. "You're doubting my very experienced inspector?"

"Inspector Nunce may be experienced but he's a fool. He arrested the wrong man. I believe you know him, sir, and you can vouch for his innocence." I hoped I had that correct, and Matt's asking for the commissioner was an indication that this man could be trusted. Based on what Dorchester had told me, I was no longer sure who or what Matt was, but I did know he wasn't the Dark Rider. I also knew that he hoped the commissioner could help him. That was enough for me, for now.

"I am intrigued," he said. "Who is it?"

"Mr. Matthew Glass."

The commissioner lowered his hands. "Thank you, Toohey, that will be all."

The inspector, who'd remained standing behind me, left, shutting the door on his way out.

"I require the entire story," the commissioner said in a calm voice edged with steel. "Now."

I explained everything, where I had an explanation. I brushed over the use of my watch to escape from Dorchester and didn't speculate on how Matt might know the commissioner when he'd been in London only a week.

The commissioner rose from his seat before I finished. He plucked his hat off the hook and placed it under his arm. "It seems I have to visit Vine Street before I head home. Hopefully Mrs. Munro won't be too upset at my tardiness tonight."

He stopped in a downstairs office to speak with Inspector Toohey about keeping Dorchester well locked up, then commanded one of the constables to bring his carriage around. As we waited, Big Ben struck the hour. Its deep resonant gong thrummed through me. I breathed deeply, drawing the air into my lungs with what felt like my first proper breath since Dorchester's attack.

It was a short ride back to Vine Street, in which the commissioner questioned me about my connections, my background, and finally, he asked for specifics on how I'd escaped from Dorchester.

"I don't know," I said honestly. "I truly don't. One moment his knife was here," I touched the small cut above my collar, "and the next he was on the ground, convulsing."

"Epilepsy," he said with certainty.

I tucked my reticule closer to my body and pressed its soft sides until I felt the familiar shape of the watch. The familiar, comforting shape. That watch had saved me; I was certain of it. It had tried to warn me that Dorchester was near, with its strange chimes, but I'd not listened. Then it had leapt from my hand to his and emitted some kind of electrical current into him.

But how could that be? What logical explanation was there for a watch to act and
think
on its own? It was ludicrous. I must have been losing my mind to even consider it. Yet there I was, considering it very seriously. If it had been just my watch, and just this one incident, I would have been a little more skeptical, but it wasn't the first time. The clock on the mantel at the gambling house had also saved my life. My aim wasn't
that
good.

Perhaps all watches were magical and I'd never been in a dangerous situation to witness their power. But that didn't explain why people were murdered all the time when they carried watches on them, or were killed in the presence of clocks. The clock beneath Big Ben's belfry hadn't thrown itself upon my attacker, either. I smiled at the absurdity of it but it quickly vanished. I'd handled both the clock in the gambling house and the watch in my reticule. I'd opened them up and touched their mechanisms.

I
was the key that set their magic in motion.

My fingers tightened around my reticule. The commissioner said something, and I had to ask him to repeat it. It wasn't until a constable opened the carriage door that I realized we'd arrived at Vine Street Police Station.

Policemen gasped when they saw the commissioner then saluted with a click of their heels. The police station was quieter, and Constable Stanley stood at the front counter instead of his gruffer colleague. He smiled upon seeing me, only for it to dissolve into open-mouthed surprise when he realized who accompanied me.

"This way, sir," he said, when Munro asked to see Matt. Not Detective Inspector Nunce, but Matt himself.

I followed, only to be ordered to remain behind by the commissioner. I considered arguing with him then decided to sit and wait. There were probably things he and Matt needed to discuss alone before Munro ordered his release.

If
he ordered his release.

If he did not, then my attempts had been for nought. There was nothing more I could do.

It felt like an age before the door opened again, but according to the clock on the wall, only ten minutes had passed. Willie emerged. She caught sight of me and smiled. I grinned back, relief flooding me. I felt giddy with it.

Duke followed her, then Cyclops, then finally Matt and the commissioner. Our gazes briefly connected before an enthusiastic Willie embraced me, almost knocking me off my feet. She clasped me tightly, laughing.

"I knew you would rescue us!" she cried, giving me a gentle punch on the arm before letting me go.

"Liar," Duke said before he elbowed her out of the way so he could hug me too. "
I
knew you'd rescue us. Never had a doubt."

"Nor me," Cyclops said, folding me into his side and kissing the top of my head. "I see you brought him the watch too," he whispered, nodding at Matt. "Seems we need to thank you twice over."

They had to sign some paperwork before they were fully released, but it didn't take long before Willie, Matt, Munro and I climbed into the commissioner's waiting carriage, while Cyclops joined the driver and Duke stood on the footman's platform at the back.

Willie, sitting beside me, took my hand. She alternated between smiling at me and turning grim. I suspected there were things she wanted to say to me. Things that she felt awkward expressing. I squeezed her hand to let her know I forgave her.

I looked at Matt, drinking in his appearance, checking every inch of his face. He seemed tired still, but not exhausted or ill, thank goodness. He smiled and his hand fluttered to his pocket where he'd slipped his watch.

"Commissioner," he began, "I have to disagree with you."

I arched my brows. Clearly this was the continuation of an earlier conversation I'd not been privy to.

"It's unwise," the commissioner said, glancing at me. "The fewer people who know, the safer you are."

"Miss Steele is the soul of discretion. She won't tell anyone. I think she's proven herself worthy, don't you?"

The commissioner's lips flattened. I decided to make it a little easier for him. "Is this about you working for the American law enforcement to help them capture outlaws?"

All three of them stared at me. "Dorchester told me a little," I admitted.

Matt sucked in a breath. He stared at me, his body rigid. "What did he say?"

That you murdered your own grandfather.
I looked away, no longer able to face him. It took a certain type of man to kill, and quite another to kill his own family.

"Do not believe everything that man told you, Miss Steele," Munro said. "Including his name. Scotland Yard will wire America for more information and send a sketch of that fellow we arrested for attacking you."

"Attacking you!" Matt bellowed.

Munro waved his hand. "She's perfectly all right, as you can see."

Matt couldn't sit still for the rest of the journey to Park Street. His fingers tapped his knee, the wall, the door handle, the seat. No one else seemed to notice except me.

"I think I might be able to help you with his name," I said. "He told me that Mr. Glass was involved in his younger brother's death."

"Could be anyone," Willie muttered.

Matt glared at her, and she shrugged before glancing at me and wincing.

"His brother was a member of your grandfather's posse," I said.