A Study in Silks (62 page)

“And what if your father’s plan is to marry you to an heiress?”

“I knew I could count on you for the practical question.”

“I’m a bore that way.” Still, she waited for the answer. The sun was streaming in, painting the room with a wash of honeyed gold.

He smiled wanly. “There is only one thing I can do: build. Surely that is of value to someone.”

“I could applaud a man who builds.”

Tobias’s smile vanished. “Could you love him?”

It was a cautious question, a foot set gingerly on a newly frozen pond. The power of it weighed on her; he had laid himself bare. Her mouth went dry as she searched his face. Her emotions were a bonfire, but her mind was alert, weighing everything.
I could love him. In time, I think I could build a future with him
.

He was handsome, as he had always been, but she saw the harder lines beneath the prettiness now. There were the beginnings of maturity in his expression, and she liked what she was hearing. He wanted something different. She was different. If she could let go of the past, it might, just might, work.

“I could,” she answered, barely above a whisper. “Building means something.”

She had come so far, making it into her first Season. She had done the presentation and her first ball. But this was the first moment that felt like it belonged to the real Evelina, not just Evelina the debutante, the woman her Grandmamma Holmes had done her best to invent. Tobias wanted her, not just the ideal of a well-trained Society girl.

“I’m glad,” he said, taking her hands. “Making is good. Making a life with you will be even better.”

With that, Tobias leaned down that last inch, pressing his warm mouth over hers. Evelina’s mind went hazy, all her critical faculties melting like snow on a hot stove. He smelled of soap and the linen of his shirt. Her fingers instinctively sought out his face, tracing the clean line of his jaw and lean, freshly shaved cheeks.

And then he deepened the kiss, and a shiver ran through her, sending an electric pulse that melted her core. She arched into it, letting him run his hand over the side of her
ribs, down the curve of her waist. Her breasts crushed against him, deliciously sensitive. It was as if her whole body were suddenly awake.

When they broke the kiss, she was panting like she’d run a mile. There were no devas or silver lights, but his kiss was definitely magic.

His grin was pure wickedness, as if the shadow on his spirits had been lifted. “Testing out your investigative skills?”

For a moment, she couldn’t form words. She thought she might need to lie down. “Are you a mystery that needs solving?”

“Perhaps I’m simply a crime about to be perpetrated.”

That seemed all too likely. He’d scrambled her wits to custard. “Then perhaps I shall call Inspector Lestrade for an arrest.”

Tobias squeezed her hands, his grin turning a little rueful. “A spell in the lockup might do me good. I have some plans to make.”

EVELINA HAD LOCKED HERSELF IN HER ROOM, DISGUSTED
with herself. She had spent the last hour elated, and then agonizing over what seemed to be the next best thing to a formal proposal. And then elated again. How she managed to be shocked and riven and desperately buoyant all at once was boggling. No wonder so much paper was covered with love poetry. People were just trying to make sense of the turmoil of emotion.

Young men were extremely complicated creatures. The Duchess of Westlake had compared them to ships. She didn’t know much about the sea, but Tobias would have been something beautifully crafted and elegant with lots of white sails—the meeting place of tradition and innovation. Evelina turned the image around in her head, wondering where she fit into that metaphor without it sounding rude.

Nick, on the other hand, would have been a sleek pirate ship. He already had the gold rings in his ears.

Speaking of unfathomable young men, now there was this Striker, who—according to Mouse and Bird—began as Nick’s foe and ended up his comrade in arms.

Nick and Striker had killed Magnus together—one saving the other’s life and then vice versa—drunk an enormous amount of Blue Ruin, ogled over some airship plans Nick
had accidentally stolen from Magnus in an attempt to pack his bleeding wounds, and then ended up visiting a surgeon when it became absolutely clear Nick required proper medical attention, which the Gold King’s streetkeeper could command for his Yellowbacks at will. Keating at least did something for his people.

In the end, everyone was fine—except Magnus.

And how do I feel about any of that?
Happy that Mouse and Bird were back. Ecstatic that Nick would be all right. Relieved that Magnus was gone. Gratitude—enormous gratitude—to Nick for seeing it done.

And yet?
Loss yawned inside her and unexpected tears dimmed her sight. Magnus had known what she was. He could have told her much, although probably for a price she would never willingly pay. He had threatened her, stolen from her, and tried to seduce her. Still, knowledge and life were never lightly lost.

She gave a shuddering sigh. In contrast, the logic of gear and spring was soothing.

The gimcrack bird stood on the edge of her train case, pecking at the screws and wheels as if they were seeds.

She’d had to rework some of Striker’s repairs, but most were as good as she could have managed without a complete recasting of the brass. The patches gave Bird a rakish air a bit like Striker himself. Mouse had been nowhere as badly damaged, but had experienced a rough ride during Dr. Magnus’s last stand.

Evelina polished a scratch out of Mouse’s belly.

I don’t know why you’re bothering with that—thing
, Bird complained.

“Don’t you want a friend?” she asked.

What do I have in common with a rodent?

As part of the repair, she’d tipped the little paws in velvet so that its scampering would be utterly silent. Now they waggled in the air as she rubbed.

“You can complain about brass cats.”

Mouse piped up.
And after that extensive conversation, perhaps we can move on to the cricket scores? How am I
supposed to work with something that but for the grace of the gods might have been an omelet?

“You’re both just jealous. You want to be the only living mechanical device.”

Nonsense
, Bird replied stiffly.

I am unique
, huffed Mouse.

“That you are,” she replied dryly, still rubbing at the scratch.

I protest this illogical servitude
, Mouse complained.

“Yet you do seem to like sneaking about.” She set down the cloth. “I might go so far as to say you relish it.”

It has a certain sensationalist interest
.

Evelina pulled off her magnifying lenses. “If you really want to go, I won’t make you stay, but then you won’t get to find out how the case ends.”

They were both silent.

“I’m serious. In his own way, Magnus tried to catch me like I caught you, and I didn’t like it. I don’t want to do that to anyone else.”

Bird hopped from the train case to the desk, feet skidding on the smooth surface.
We’ll let you know
. Which seemed to say complaining was more fun than actually getting their way.

Evelina could feel another presence prodding her consciousness. The cube reminded her of a cat wanting to be stroked, the gentle tap-tapping of a paw to get her attention.

She’d hidden the cube at the back of her wardrobe, but brought it out when she was sitting in her room. It seemed to like the company, even though the other devas couldn’t understand it any better than she could. No amount of scrubbing had made the thing attractive. It was still a rusty mass of partially melted gears and wheels, but the intelligence inside it was so much more.

It perched on the corner of the desk. Mouse had climbed it, and was cleaning its whiskers of metal polish. She touched the cube’s surface with her fingertips, feeling the pitted roughness of the cool metal. In return, it reached out to her mind, gentle and almost adoring. There was something feminine about it, almost maternal.

“What are you?” Evelina whispered. “What do you need?”

An answer came, the voice clear and firm in her head, but it was in no language she knew. She’d never thought about the fact that nature spirits spoke different tongues—or perhaps there was another reason they couldn’t understand one another. Devas spoke to those of the Blood, but Gran Cooper said that in the old days there were many different tribes, and each had different talents and an affinity for different types of devas. That seemed to make sense. Over the years, Evelina had talked to one or two air spirits, but hundreds of devas of earth and plant and tree.

Of course, none of that helped her now. “I don’t understand.”

The voice came again, husky and sweet but vibrant with urgency. It pulled at her heartstrings. It wanted her to understand—something. Tired as she was, tears of frustration pricked Evelina’s eyes.

“I wish I could help.”

Helen
.

Evelina started. “What did you call me?”

Helen?
The second time sounded hopeful. It wasn’t much, but it was a speck of real communication. It was also the same name that Dr. Magnus had used at the ball.

And he had told her about Athena’s Casket at the ball, and hinted that it combined magic and machine. She stared at the cube, wondering who had tossed it among the junk in the warehouse. Someone with no ability to hear devas talk. A careless worker? Definitely someone who was blind to anything that did not glitter.
If the cube were shiny and gold, I would wonder if this was the object everyone was hunting for. But if I’m right, and some of Keating’s treasures were stolen and melted down, the story might be quite different. Is this all that remains of the casket?

The idea was staggering. She grabbed the edge of her desk, as if contact with the hard edges would keep her from floating off into wild speculation.
I must go slowly here, and not jump to conclusions!

A knock on her bedroom door shattered her thoughts.

Evelina grabbed Bird and stuffed it into the pocket of her skirt, stifling its indignant peeps. She dropped Mouse into the train case, slammed the lid, and picked up the watch she was pretending to repair. As an afterthought, she tossed a doily onto the cube. The effect was odd, but the best she could do at a moment’s notice.

“Come in!” she called out, turning around so that her back was to her desk.

Imogen put her head around the corner of the door. “Your uncle has arrived.”

“It’s about time.” Evelina shook out her skirts and hurried after her friend.

SHERLOCK HOLMES, CONSULTING
detective, stood in the front hall of Hilliard House, somehow occupying every square inch of the space without moving a muscle. Tall and wiry, he looked enviably at ease in a light summer coat, as if he had just happened by after a stroll.

Evelina’s step hitched. Though he was impeccably turned out, dark circles bagged under his eyes, as if he’d been up for the past three weeks. What had he been working on? Something to do with Bohemia?

“Lord Bancroft is not at home, sir,” Bigelow intoned.

“I did not ask to see Lord Bancroft,” Holmes said evenly. “I came to inquire after my niece.”

“Here I am, Uncle.” Evelina stopped and dropped a slight curtsy. If it had been Dr. Watson, there would have been hugs and smiles, but Sherlock Holmes wasn’t the type of man one automatically embraced.

“I stopped to see your grandmother on the way back from the Continent.” Holmes doffed his tall hat. “She is much better. I believe news of your success at the palace was the best tonic available.” He said it dryly, but not unkindly. “During the course of the conversation, I established that she knows every dress regulation and step of the procedure by rote.”

They exchanged a wry smile, sharing volumes of commiseration without speaking a word. “It’s a fine day. Shall
we take a stroll?” he asked. “I believe there is much of interest to review.”

Five minutes later, Evelina walked down the street, hurrying to match Holmes’s long stride. They were making a circuit of the round garden that graced the middle of Beaulieu Square. “I stopped by here specifically because Lestrade wrote me a letter,” he said. “I understand three of Lord Bancroft’s servants have been murdered. I vacillated between utter confidence that you could manage anything and anxiety that a knife-wielding maniac was stalking the halls. Then I wondered why no one else had bothered to inform me.” He awarded her a sour look.

Evelina swallowed. It had taken him under a minute to begin the conversation she least wanted to have. “What would you have done had you known? You were out of the country.”

“A necessity. My case proved to have unexpected dimensions.”

“No doubt you found that of interest.”

He flushed slightly, as if those dimensions might have been personal.
A woman? No, not possible
. “Not a pleasant sort of interest, I’m afraid. I cannot go into a great amount of detail, so let us just say that a few months ago, there was a scandal of sorts involving an adventuress and a member of the Bohemian aristocracy. It was averted and, as far as anyone could foresee, the matter was put to rest.”