A Clockwork Heart (11 page)

Elle gasped with indignation when she heard the lock click as he turned the key. She started banging against the door with her fist. “This discussion is not over, Commissioner. I am not leaving until you tell me what I need to know!”

“My lady?”

Elle spun round. Behind her stood a slightly embarrassed-looking constable. He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “Apologies, madam, but could you please come with me.”

She held up her hand. “Tell your commanding officer that this matter is far from resolved.”

“This way, please.” The constable gripped her by the elbow and started marching her down the stairs. At the bottom, he turned right instead of left, leading her way from the direction of the entrance.

“Isn't the entrance that way?” she said pointing in the opposite direction.

The constable blushed. “I'm sorry, my lady, but you have to go this way.” They started walking along a long intimidating corridor that was painted white and green. The walls became barer and more uninviting as they went along.

“Now hang on just a moment. Where exactly are you taking me?” she said.

The constable did not answer but instead he started walking faster, dragging Elle along until they came to a metal door. The constable pulled out a bunch of keys and opened the door.

“Are you arresting me?”

“I'm sorry, ma'am. Could you step inside, please,” the constable said.

“But I haven't done anything,” she shouted.

“Charges are inciting civil unrest, threatening a police officer and conspiring to commit acts of violence with the Suffrage movement,” the constable mumbled. “Commissioner said not to charge you with breaking into his office. But I am at liberty to do so if you continue to resist. Now if you would come along quietly, then things will go better for you.”

“Suffrage?” Elle felt the first vestiges of panic rising up within her. “What on earth are you talking about? I came here to speak to the commissioner about my missing husband.”

“I'm sure you did, my lady,” the constable said without conviction. “Every woman we bring in here says something like that.” They had reached another heavy metal door. The constable rang a bell and another guard appeared and opened it for them.

“Put this one in with the others. No special treatment. Orders from the top,” he said as he handed Elle through the gate.

“You can't do this. I've done nothing wrong,” she said as the new guard took hold of her.

“Nobody ever does, madam,” he laughed as he dragged her down the corridor.

“Wait! This is a mistake.” Elle tried to struggle as he turned the long key in the lock of what definitely looked like a cell door.

The guard, however, seemed quite adept at keeping hold of reluctant prisoners with only one hand while negotiating locks and keys with the other, and before Elle could protest much more, she was shoved into the gloom of the cell. The door shut behind her with a resonating clang.

“Let me out of here this very minute, you brute!” She banged on the door with her fist, but the iron was so thick that her protestations were ineffectual. All she heard were the receding sounds of footsteps down the corridor.

“There's no point in shouting. You'll only end up hurting your throat. Best to keep up your strength,” a soft voice said behind her.

Elle spun round. There were four other women in the cell, each of whom was watching her gravely.

“Please, do sit down and join us.” A slender young woman in a gray dress spoke. She gave Elle a small smile and gestured at the other end of the bench. “There is space enough for one more.”

Elle abandoned her attempts at gaining the guard's attention and sat down on the bench. “Thank you,” she said. The shock and mortification of being slung into the clink had made her knees a bit wobbly.

“I like your hat,” the girl said shyly. She gazed at Elle's outfit with open admiration.

“Thank you,” Elle said. She righted the little net veil that had suffered the brunt of her scuffle with the guard and held out her hand. “Eleanor Marsh. Call me Elle. How do you do,” she said.

“Christabel Pankhurst. How do you do,” the young woman said. “And these are my fellow Suffragettes,” she said as she introduced the other women.

“How do you do,” Elle said politely.

“And there really is no need to pretend you are someone you are not, my lady. I went to school with the Mandeville girls and my father knows your husband. We've all seen pictures of you in the paper,” Christabel said.

Elle shook her head. “I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to create false pretenses. It's just so hard to know whom to trust these days,” Elle said.

The other women all murmured in agreement.

“Quite right.” One of the older women spoke. “We understand your fears, sister.”

“And I'm still getting used to using my new title. Nobody seems to understand that I don't like the fact that it feels as if I blinked out of existence the moment I tied the knot.”

Christabel smiled and took Elle's hands in her own. “
We
understand. All of us object to being treated as if we were nothing more than chattels.”

Elle shivered. Christabel's hands felt like ice. She suddenly realized that the poor girl had on nothing more than a thin linen dress and she was doing her best not to shiver from the cold.

“Been in here long?” Elle said, trying to take her mind off the awful situation she found herself in yet again.

“A few days. But my mother and sister will be along to collect us soon, I'm sure.” Christabel bit her lip.

Elle took off her gloves and coat. It was good lambswool, finely woven in a gray tweed pattern with a fine thread of purple and green running through the fabric. “Would you mind looking after my coat and gloves for me for a little while? I'm dressed for outside and this cell is so close, I feel like I can hardly breathe in this old thing.” She handed the coat to Christabel.

The girl hesitated.

“Please. I insist,” she said. “And feel free to borrow them if you wish.”

Christabel took the coat and wrapped it round her slim shoulders. She gave Elle a grateful smile. “This is the first time I've ever been arrested too. I shall remember to dress more warmly next time.” She looked at the sleeve. “These colors are lovely.”

“Well, then ladies, I suppose I had better do my best to settle in. There is no way of telling how long I might be here.” Elle fished around inside her reticule and pulled out a tin of her favorite lemon-flavored boiled sweets. She always carried a small tin with her. Preparedness was the mark of a good pilot. She opened the tin and handed them round. “Nothing like a lemon drop to keep one's spirits up.”

“We are supposed to be refusing all food. On principle,” said one of the women. She stared at the tin of sweets longingly.

“Oh, don't be silly. Lemon drops are not food. And besides, no one will ever know.” Elle gave her a conspiratorial smile. The Suffragettes gratefully accepted her offer and soon all the women except Christabel were chatting and licking the white powder from the lemon drops off their fingers.

Suddenly there was a loud clang and the crunch of metal on metal. Elle grabbed the sweets and shoved them into the pocket of Christabel's apron just as the heavy door swung open.

“Someone's come to collect you, Lady Greychester. Time to go,” the guard said.

“Well, ladies, it has been delightful to meet you all. I wish you all the best in your endeavors.”

As Elle stood to go, Christabel reached into the other pocket of her apron and pulled out a flyer. “Do join us. Deeds, not words,” she whispered as she pressed the pamphlet into Elle's hands. “And if you ever need anything, just ask.”

Elle inclined her head. “Take care of yourselves. Stay strong, ladies.”

Christabel gave a brief, brave nod as the guard escorted Elle from the cell.

“Best stay away from that one, my lady. She may look all innocent, but she is nothing but trouble,” he said as the walked along the corridor.

Elle refrained from giving the officer an acidic retort. She'd spent quite enough time on the wrong side of the law today and insulting a police officer that held the keys to one's freedom might be a step too far.

Outside, Neville was waiting beside the car. “Thank goodness you are safe, my lady.” He looked utterly relieved to see her. “When you didn't come out of the station for ages, I went inside to ask. They told me you had been arrested, so I went home and we had to tell the professor. He called your uncle, Lord Geoffrey Chance, who managed to sort things out.”

Elle groaned and slumped her shoulders. Calling Uncle Geoffrey was never a good idea and she could just imagine what he was going to say the next time he saw her.

“I didn't know what else to do.” Neville shrugged apologetically.

Outside the light was fading and the cold fog was starting to curl through the streets.

“Not to worry, Neville. You did the right thing. But I tell you what, let's go home, shall we?” Elle shivered and rubbed her arms to warm herself, suddenly missing her lovely warm coat.

“Right away, my lady.” Neville touched the rim of his hat and opened the door for her.

Elle had spent the entire afternoon behind bars and it had left her feeling tired, hungry and chilled to the bone. She did not want to think how wretched things were for the poor Suffragettes who were still in the cells. Rumors had it that when they refused to eat, the guards force fed them cold semolina with a funnel and a rubber tube. She shuddered at the thought. She also resolved that she would make inquiries about joining the movement as soon as she found Marsh and all the misunderstandings were cleared.

With a sigh of gratitude, she sank back into the familiar leather seats as the car pulled off into the gathering murk.

CHAPTER 13

Clothilde had not been in her chambers for ten minutes when Emilian knocked on the door.

“What is it?” she said without bothering to conceal her irritation.

“We have kept the big fish separate for you,” he said.

“Oh yes, I almost forgot. The surprise. Another big fish,” she said somewhat sarcastically.

“He is powerful, this one. He wouldn't submit like the others. Has magic in him, my sister says.”

Clothilde turned to Emilian in surprise. “Magic, you say?” She pursed her lips.

“That's what we think. But go and see for yourself. He's downstairs, in the jar room.”

“Please wait for me outside. I won't be a moment,” she said as she stepped behind the painted screen that stood in the corner of the room. Disregarding the risks, she closed her eyes and slowly she reached out through the barrier. Gently, she eased open another pocket of energy and allowed herself to drink from it, indulging in the sheer luxury of the power as it washed through her. The effect was almost immediate and she instantly felt stronger. She had to admit that the intensity of the energy in London was far stronger than anything she had ever experienced. Once this task was over, she was considering settling here permanently.

Refreshed, she stepped out of her chamber and smiled at Emilian who was patiently waiting for her. “Well, I suppose I had better go and have a look at your new fish, won't I?” she said. “Might as well check on the new batch of hearts while we are there.”

Her footsteps made almost no sound as she descended the stone stairs that led to her laboratory.

In the room at the bottom of the stairs, Clothilde stopped and stared. Before her was a man chained to a chair that was too small for him. His dark hair was a little long in the front and flopped down over his forehead. But it was his eyes that held her transfixed. They were alive with a passion and intelligence she had rarely encountered before. “Leave us, Emilian,” she said. “I wish to be alone with this one.”

Clothilde swallowed as she felt a little shiver of anticipation run through her. Emilian's pathetic little sister had, for once in her life, been right. This was no ordinary man.

“Let me go,” he growled as soon as he spotted her. He glared at her with so much anger that she had to resist the urge to take a step back.

She smiled at him. “Letting you go wouldn't be any fun at all, now would it?”

“Who are you?” he said. His broad shoulders flexed as he strained against his bonds and Clothilde felt her mouth go dry at the sight of all that muscle and pent-up anger.

He was tall, too. She could tell from the way his legs folded underneath the chair. Had she finally found the one she had been looking for all her life?

“Speak, I say!” he barked.

Clothilde gave a little start, but composed herself. She was the one who was in charge here, after all.

He was definitely dangerous, though. She could smell very old magic on him. It was faint and intermingled with the smell of sweat and sandalwood, but it was undeniable.

She sashayed over to the man and placed a hand on his shoulder.

He flinched and tried to shake her off.

“Be calm,” she murmured, allowing a few moments for her manipulative powers to wash over him.

He resisted and shoved her power back at her with a jolt. “I said unhand me, witch! Right now. Before I become really angry.”

She let go of him. My, but he really was strong. And there must be knowledge of how to use that power within him too. She had never encountered anyone who was not of the traveling folk like Emilian and his sister, who could resist her influence like this.

She started playing with his hair, gently probing his mind for information with her touch.

He pulled his head away. “Don't you dare touch me, Shadow-whore,” he spat.

The insult stung and she lifted her hand away. He was making her angry. Angry and excited. She felt the darkness starting to swirl inside her. “I would be careful about how you address me,” she murmured.

The man met her gaze. “And if I were you, I would start running, because once I am out of these shackles, you will regret ever having crossed paths with me!” He yanked against the wrist manacles that bound him and the wood of the chair made an ominous cracking sound.

Clothilde felt a slight frisson of fear. What if he got loose? This man would surely overpower her. Images of them wrapped in an embrace flooded through her mind, both fearful and thrilling at the same time. Could she afford to take such a chance to see what he would do? She bit her lip in a moment of indecision.

Did she need to tell the Consortium about this one? He could be hers forever. Just think of the sweet magic they could make together once he submitted to her will.

Almost in answer to her thoughts, the man roared and yanked at the chains again. One of the spokes of the chair gave way and shattered.

The violence of his struggle galvanized her into action. Yes, he would be hers. She would keep him all to herself. He would be her little secret.

Another chair spoke broke as the man struggled and Clothilde watched on, her mind whirling with possibilities. He needed taming. Allowing him free rein while her plans were still forming would not do. But later might be a different matter. Yes, later, when all she had set out to do had been achieved, this man would rule by her side. That was certainly why he had been sent to her like this.

Quickly she stepped up to him and placed her hands on the sides of his temples. She was suddenly grateful for the little bit of extra power she had taken before coming down here.

“Now hold still and this will all go better for the both of us,” she said. She summoned all she had within her and plunged her energy into his head. The impact of their spirit-selves colliding was like running face first into a rock wall. She gasped and reeled, but took a breath and plunged back into his psyche again.

He roared and she felt him straining against her. Another chair spindle cracked and they both fell to the ground.

Then quite suddenly, she broke through his defenses. And in an instant, they were both swirling inside his mind. But this was no gentle, graceful dance. Everywhere she looked, he slammed against her, blocking her view.

He was protecting something, hiding it from her, and it was taking all his strength to do it, she realized with a growing sense of excitement.

She peered past his swirling barriers, deeper and deeper into the dark recesses of his mind. She had never encountered a man whose psyche was so layered. It was utterly breathtaking.

He was a warlock, she noted with equal measures of apprehension and excitement. And his power seemed to be bound and tightly strapped down by a very strong spell.

Clothilde gasped as she watched him struggle to release his power from its restraints. He was fighting her with every fiber of his being, straining with raw effort of will against the bonds.

It's an effort to hold him with his power bound
,
she thought. What would happen if he freed himself? And why would one so powerful seek do this to himself? It was a mystery she had no time to unravel.

The remainder of the chair cracked again and he rolled over, partly covering her with his body. She wasn't going to hold him for much longer. But she wanted him. The thought of him belonging to her was utterly irresistible.

She wanted to lose herself inside his mind where he would reveal all his secrets to her, but she daren't wait any longer.

She let go of him and returned to her physical consciousness to gather herself. Outside, thunder rumbled and bolts of lightning coursed through the building.

Clothilde reached up for the lightning, which had been steadily building up around them, and focused all of her power on him.

There was an almighty flash of purple light. She felt the warlock's mind fill with the darkness she sent. Black and viscous, like hot tar, it slid through him, obliterating all thoughts and memories before it. And then, just before everything inside his mind went dark, Clothilde thought she caught a glimpse of an image of a woman, but it was gone before she had time to take it in.

His body went limp; all that made this man was extinguished.

Gently she rolled him onto his back. His handsome face was pale but relaxed, as if he were asleep. The only detectable sign of life was the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

“Hush now, my dearest. It will all soon be better,” she murmured against his cheek.

“Emilian!” she called.

He was in the room within moments, as if he had been waiting just outside the door.

“Help me get him onto that table,” she said.

Emilian helped her lift the sleeping man onto her operating table.

“Make sure he is strapped in properly,” she ordered. She was not going to take any chances. Not now that she had found him.

“Leave us now,” she said to Emilian once the man had been secured. “I don't want to be disturbed. Is that understood?”

“Yes, mistress.” Emilian bowed and closed the door after him as he left.

Clothilde found herself humming softly as she started unbuttoning the man's collar and shirt. As she had hoped, the wall of chest that was revealed under the layers of waistcoat and shirt was broad and strong. Gently she ran her fingers over the fine sprinkling of chest hair that adorned it. Yes, it was a fine chest that would hold its new heart beautifully.

She allowed herself one more lingering look at the beautiful angles of his face before setting to work.

“You were made for me, dear one,” she murmured. “And yet, I do not know your name.” The man did not—could not—answer. “But you will be mine. And when you awake we can both choose new names for ourselves. Just you wait and see.”

She walked up to one of the cabinets and unlocked it. Inside was the polished case that the Clockmaker had given her. She opened the case and carefully selected one of the clockwork hearts nestling within the purple velvet.

Back at the table, Clothilde carefully lined up her surgical instruments in a row on the table next to her. For once, this was going to be a labor of love and she wanted to take her time. She would make sure that all the incisions were perfect.

“Yes, you will be beautiful afterward. Not like the others,” she murmured.

Slowly the scalpel slid though skin and muscle, separating bone and cartilage as she worked. And as she worked, she started humming to herself. It was a lonely, sinister tune from her childhood.

“Just think of all the beautiful dark magic you and I will make together one day, my love,” she whispered. “All we need to do is free you. And once you are free, we will be together forever,” she said as she raised her bloodied hands in order to complete the next step. “I will be the only one who holds the key to your heart.”

And all the while, the thunder and lightning roiled outside.