A Study in Darkness (46 page)

“Wraiths,” Nick said. “They don’t usually come this close to the surface. I wonder what they’re doing here?”

The Wraiths were like the Blue Boys or the Yellowbacks, but they belonged to the Black Kingdom, the member of the Steam Council who ran all things underground.

“I wasn’t sure they were anything but a myth,” Evelina confessed.

“They’re real enough, Dark Mother forgive us.”

“Maybe they’re pulled into the Steam Council’s squabble as well.”

“Maybe,” he said in a tight voice. “But they probably smelled your magic, so it’s past time to leave.”

Nick tugged her to the right, navigating fallen rubble by touch to find a crack in the brickwork. Nick wriggled through, then pulled her after. Evelina winced as she heard her hem tear. When they came out the other side, they were in an abandoned patch of dirt between buildings. Evelina shook out her skirts while Nick dusted the grime from his hat. She looked around, taking stock.

“I know where we are,” said Evelina, keeping her voice low. “My room isn’t far away.”

“I’ll see you home,” said Nick.

A strange light-headedness took over. She shouldn’t be talking about going home—it was too ordinary, too plain. Something dreadful had happened, but she was having trouble thinking. “What about the others in the Indifference Device?”

She could see in his face that he didn’t hold out much hope for any who hadn’t already escaped. “I won’t trust your safety to the streets, not tonight. Someone—perhaps me, perhaps another—will spread the news of what just happened, and then the rebels will strike back. It will be a bloody night tonight, with the Blue Boys roaming their patch.”

“Like Crowleyton,” she murmured.

He gave her a puzzled look, but didn’t press. Suddenly she didn’t want him anywhere but at her side, because he was too precious to risk in a hopeless fight. “Then take me
home,” she said, her fingers brushing dust from the front of his jacket. “And be careful.”

He smiled, but it faded almost at once. “Come on.”

They slipped onto the road. It was far from empty, but there was a strange, jittery atmosphere that said people knew trouble was coming. She saw faces from the tavern—clumps of people on the street corners arguing, and she was relieved to recognize Tess. But Nick avoided them, herding her away from the thick of the crowd.

By now both of them were alert to danger, keeping well away from any but the broadest streets. Nick slid a knife from his boot, holding it loose in his hand. But when a pair of Blue Boys sauntered past them, he gave way, not meeting their eyes. Evelina knew he wouldn’t risk a fight with her there.

They slowed as they came to the door of her building. There was no streetlight, but Nick drew her close to the wall, gaining the privacy of the shadows. “Do you go back to working for Magnus tomorrow?” he asked.

“Most likely.” She was exhausted, and tomorrow seemed years away. “I don’t have Keating’s answers yet.”

“I’ll show you what I saw.” He took her hands in his. “Then you won’t need to go back. Please, Evie.”

“Once I have what I was asked to find out,” she said softly, “then I can leave.”

“Where is your obligation to stay with a sorcerer?”

“I will have fulfilled the letter of Keating’s agreement. Then he’ll have to leave me alone, at least for a little while. That will buy me some time to think of what to do.” Though she had no idea what that might be yet. She wanted vengeance. She wished she had enjoyed the opportunity to learn more magic.
Three days left
.

“You don’t believe he will play fair.” It was a statement rather than a question.

“Would you?” she asked bitterly. “Steam barons aren’t known for their sense of honor.”

“You have the makings of a rebel.” His tone was teasing, but there was uncertainty in it, too. He was probing.

His eyes were dark pools, lost in the shadows. She wished
for more light so she could read his features. “What about you?”

“I’ve had dealings with them.” He took her hands in his. “Nights like tonight draw me closer to their cause.”

She understood, and that terrified her. She had grown up with the Steam Council, and they had always been the unbeatable villain, a dragon that devoured any foolish enough to challenge their strength. She shuddered at the thought of fighting them. Nick felt her fear and pulled her close, finding the darkest part of the shadows.

“We’re together in this,” he said, voice rich with emotion. “Neither of us leaves the other behind. Never again.”

IMOGEN SAT IN THE GARDEN BEHIND HILLIARD HOUSE, HER
needlework idle in her lap. The bench was next to the wall and warmed by the late September sun. Some of the leaves had been touched by frost, the wind combing through the trees bringing a dry rustle rather than the gentle susurrus of spring. Her gaze was unfocused, not really taking in the cascade of pleated pink fabric that formed the skirts of her dress, or the last of the hollyhocks huddling in the shelter of the wall.

It didn’t seem that long ago that she had sat there with Evelina, sharing secrets and planning for their first Season.
It would have been easy to wish that she could unwind the clock and go back to that moment, but what would she change? So many threads had woven the pattern they now lived, some of them from before she had even been born. And instinct said that those threads were headed for a fearsome snarl. She wasn’t clever—not like Evelina or Tobias—but she had her fair share of good sense. And she had to believe that she was stubborn enough to get through whatever was coming.

But, oh, she was so tired. She had been sick again, and the familiar lassitude of her illness dragged at her limbs. If she could just stay strong, if she could just endure the nightmares, she would get through it all, but she missed Evelina. For so many years, her friend had given her the courage to keep fighting—but now no one had the time to sit by her bedside. They all had problems of their own—and a grown woman should be able to face bad dreams, shouldn’t she?

She heard a patter of velvet-tipped paws, and blinked the world back into focus. Mouse was skittering across the newspaper folded on the bench beside her, whiskers quivering. Indoors, the creature’s coat of etched steel was the gray of any mouse, but here the sun glinted on its hide and the finely articulated steel of its tail. It sat up, front paws tucked to its chest and a tiny sprig of heather in its jaw.

Bird was somewhere in the trees, enjoying the freedom to fly. Imogen knew her friend had sent the creatures for comfort, but the gesture had reminded her of the fact that Evelina had once again been exiled. And now she knew it was more than that—her friend had disappeared from sight. Only her adorable familiars were left behind.

“Thank you so much,” she said softly. Mouse dropped the heather into her hand and she tucked it into her waistband. As she did so, Mouse clambered into her lap, wallowing in the mounds of pink fabric and soft petticoats beneath. The creature rapidly became lost at sea, sinking utterly from view. That was just as well, since Tobias was coming toward them. He wore a look Imogen knew well—something was on his mind, but he didn’t want to admit to it quite yet. She wondered if it had to do with Alice or the automatons. Tobias
had been in and out of the house the last few days, dealing with the upheaval of a canceled honeymoon and his move back into Hilliard House.

“Im,” he said, settling at the other end of the bench. “It’s good to see you up and out of the house. Are you sleeping any better?”

“Of course.” She pulled her embroidery closer, covering the sinkhole in her skirts where Mouse had gone down beneath the pink waves.

He studied her, gray eyes solemn. “You’re lying.”

“I’m telling you no more than you wish to hear.”

He leaned against the back of the bench, angling so that he faced her. “Someday you’re going to stop being what everyone wishes you to be. We’ll all be shocked, but you’ll be the stronger for it.”

She returned his smile, but left it at that. Tobias meant well, but he had no idea what it was to be a woman, or their father’s daughter. “Have you heard any news of Evelina?”

“No.” Tobias looked away. “And you should stop fretting over it.”

She felt Mouse squirming. The creature had responded to its mistress’s name. “How can I
not
worry?”

“Because you’re fading in front of my eyes.” His brows drew together, a note of frustration creeping into his tone. “You’ve worried yourself sick.”

“I’m her friend. You said Mr. Holmes is looking, but he’s not had any luck, has he?”

“Not that I’ve heard.” Tobias flushed. “I blame myself. I should have stayed away from her.”

“Don’t.”

“Why not?” He swallowed hard. “Wasn’t I at fault?”

“Blame isn’t going to help anyone,” she said, and her voice sounded as tired as she felt. “We need to fix what we can and move on.”

But of course her words slid off unheeded. Tobias wasn’t done flagellating himself for what had happened at Maggor’s Close—and right or wrong, it solved nothing.

“You need to get well.” With a determined set to his jaw,
he picked up the newspaper. “You’re still reading this nonsense.”

“How can it be nonsense if it’s real?”

Tobias made a huffing sound that was disturbingly like their father. “They embellish to sell papers.”

“No,” she said quietly, “this is how it was.”

“How could you possibly know?”

“I’m still dreaming every detail before it appears in print.” She took the paper from him, stabbing her finger at the headline. “This one—this Annie Chapman. I saw the tip of the knife sink into her flesh.”

He started, his eyes growing wide. “Pardon?”

“I told you. I’ve told you a dozen times. I dream everything the same night it happens.” Despair dragged at her shoulders, making her sag forward until her elbows rested on her knees. Her stays bit into her flesh, but she almost welcomed the pain. At least she knew it was real.

“You’ve gone pale,” Tobias said, touching her shoulder.

The nightmares rose in Imogen’s memory like bile, sickening and vile. Her skin felt suddenly hot and sticky despite the cool air. Her hands were shaking as she threw the
Prattler
to the ground with a sound of disgust. “I must be losing my mind. The only comfort is that we were in Scotland when they first happened. At least I couldn’t have done the deeds myself.”

“Dear God, Imogen.” Tobias was clearly stunned. He had finally absorbed what she’d been telling him.

“The dreams keep repeating over and over, but there haven’t been any new ones since we came back to town. That’s some mercy.”

“Im,” he said, sliding closer to put an arm about her shoulders. She leaned into him, grateful for her older brother.

“I’m sorry to be such a bore,” she murmured.

He stroked her back as if she were a child. “You need rest. I know how fatigued you get when you’re unwell, and that makes the imagination play tricks.”

Sorrow drained the last of her strength. “You don’t believe me,” she whispered.

“Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t want to believe it.”

It sounded like magic, and Tobias was like their father—terrified of such things. He would rather believe her mad than cursed with the Sight. Imogen pushed away from him, giving up hope of real help. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it is my imagination.”

Tobias didn’t quite relax, but he unwound a fraction. “You’re doing the right thing, getting fresh air and sun. Would you prefer to go to the country for a while? Poppy could go with you. I know you seemed much happier there.”

His sincere kindness made her want to weep, even if it was uninformed. The reason she’d loved the country was Bucky’s presence—but now that Lord Bancroft had forbidden her to speak to him, even in a public place, it wouldn’t be the same. At least in London, there was a greater chance of seeing him across a ballroom or salon, so she shook her head. “No. I love you for asking, but no.”

“Is there another doctor we could call?”

“Please no, Tobias, not another one. All they want to do is give me laudanum.”

He squeezed her hand, sounding urgent now. “Listen, Dr. Anderson is all very good for routine calls, but surely there are new men with fresh ideas. When did the nightmares start up again?”

She tried to remember. The illness had come and gone all her life, flaring up and then laying quiescent, sometimes for years. There had been a bad spell when the family had moved from Austria to England, and then again when they had first bought Hilliard House. Then again last April. “I suppose it’s been stressful times that trigger it. The dreams of murder started when we were in Scotland, but before that they always seemed to coincide with times when we moved house.”