The Clockwork Scarab (8 page)

Then a prickle of guilt trickled over me, and my irritation evaporated like a puff of steam. Had I not promised my services to Princess Alexandra only hours ago? And here I was, grumbling about the next task set before me simply because it was not to my liking.

Maybe I wasn’t the right sort of person for this assignment. Maybe I didn’t quite fit in Miss Adler’s society. After all, I couldn’t even look at a dead body without turning into a jellied mass of paralysis.

I sat up straight and glared down at the letter as if it were Miss Holmes herself.
No
. I was just as able as she. Probably more so.

I wasn’t going to let that gawky brain-beak show me up.

As I dashed off a quick response to Miss Holmes, I couldn’t help but smile. I might prefer to be doing something other than having Pepper attend to my hair and then making conversation with a roomful of people I hardly cared to
know, but Mina Holmes was bound to be even less enthusiastic about the idea. From our conversation last night, it was obvious she didn’t know anyone in Society, nor did she seem comfortable with the idea of interacting within it.

My smile turned into a smirk. At least
I
had something suitable to wear.

When Miss Holmes climbed into my carriage at eight o’clock, I goggled at her, and my snide thoughts about the contents of her closet evaporated. Her gown was one of the most gorgeous pieces of up-to-the-date, cognoggin-influenced fashion I’d ever seen.

Made of velvet and silk, the fitted bodice and voluminous skirt were panels of rich chocolate brown alternating with a golden rust color. The sleeves were large and puffy near the shoulders, tapering into long fingerless gloves that ended in a point at her middle finger. From the elbow to wrist, brown and rust lace had been appliqu
é
d onto the fabric, and buttons, flowers, and little clockwork gears decorated the backs of the glove-sleeves.

Her brown corset was short and leather, and she wore it
over
the bodice in a new style that was just coming into fashion. But did she have another corset underneath? Four dangling watch chains and their matching clocks decorated one side of the corset and on the other were two slender pockets. And pinned to the front of her bodice was the most remarkable dragonfly pin, complete with rotating wings that made
a soft, pleasant buzzing sound and little whirring gears that made up its body.

Not only was she dressed at the height of Street Fashion, but the gangly, long-nosed girl had done something with her hair that made her look even taller
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
but in a willowy way. And even her blade-like nose seemed balanced by the pile of chestnut-colored hair that had been braided, woven with ribbons, and decorated with clockwork gears in a neat but intricate coiffure.

Not that my own gown was anything to sniff at. At the height of accepted Victorian fashion, my frock consisted of a narrow skirt of frothier, lighter fabric than Miss Holmes’s, with many layers of ice-colored pink caught up by darker rosettes and gathered into a neat bustle at the lower part of my spine. But the most important aspect of the dress was its concealed split skirts. That was Pepper’s inspiration, and practical for someone of my vocation.

“Is something wrong, Miss Stoker?” Miss Holmes asked, patting her head as if to make certain her hair wasn’t about to fall.

We were sitting in the carriage, and Middy, the driver, was waiting for directions from me. “No,” I replied, noticing the set of keys dangling from the edge of Miss Holmes’s corset-vest. Surely they were for decoration rather than practical use, but nevertheless, even a traditionalist handmaker like me found them cunning. I blinked and stuck my head out the small window to give Middy the address and then settled back in my seat.

“Are you quite certain?” My companion glanced down at herself, smoothing her full skirts. Even in the drassy light, I could see a stiff, black lace crinoline peeping from beneath the rustling material and the hint of elegant copper-toed shoes. “Do you think my—I wasn’t certain what to wear.” She lifted her nose and managed to look down at me despite the fact that we were both seated.

Miss Mina Holmes was
nervous
. That was an eye-opening revelation and eased my
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
whatever it was that made me feel prickly and uncomfortable around her.

“Not at all,” I told her candidly. “Your gown is stunning. I’m certain the gentlemen will be most taken with you.”

“Well, that might be the case, but it’s neither here nor there. We have business afoot tonight.” Despite her brisk words, her fingers, which had been toying with a group of buttons on her glove-sleeve, relaxed in her lap.

“Yes, of course. You could bring me up to date on what you and Miss Adler discovered today.” I kept my voice neutral but felt compelled to add, “My apologies for not joining you at the museum. I was out late patrolling for UnDead and overslept this morning.” I didn’t mention the fact that neither of the ladies had contacted me about a time or place to meet, so Miss Holmes must have taken it upon herself to visit Miss Adler first thing in the morning.

“Oh,” she said, looking surprised. “It must be a rather difficult proposition, being out late and then being required
to awaken shortly after dawn. I didn’t think the UnDead were quite a threat any longer.”

I gritted my teeth. No, they weren’t, but she didn’t need to remind me of it
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
and the fact that I’d failed the single time I’d faced one. “The reason they aren’t a threat is because of people like me who ensure that they aren’t.”

“Right.”

I quickly changed the subject. “I had a beast of a time of it, leaving tonight without my guardians. Did you have difficulty obtaining permission to attend the ball?”

“Permission?” Miss Holmes gave a short laugh. “My father rarely darkens the door of our house, and even if he does happen to find his bed for the night, he’d hardly notice whether I was present or not. Of course, it’s because he’s quite busy helping the government at the Home Office and spends long hours at his office or club.”

“And your mother didn’t object?” I’d had to lie and tell Florence I was attending a small musicale at the Tylingtons’. If she got wind that I was attending the Cosgrove-Pitt ball, the event of the season, nothing would have kept her home
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
which was why I’d hidden my invitation when it came two weeks ago.

“My mother is gone.”

The tone of Miss Holmes’s voice snapped my thoughts from dear, practical Florence. “Gone? Do you mean
dead
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
or
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
?” My voice trailed off.

“She left my father and me a year ago,” she said in a voice that tried too hard to sound nonchalant. “Obviously, she cares even less than he does what I do and where I go.” She shifted, her skirts rustling, and sat up ramrod straight. “Which is precisely why Miss Adler chose me to be part of this society, knowing I wouldn’t be hampered by such authority figures as parents.”

I couldn’t imagine what it would be like not to have any adults about, meddling in my daily life. The thought made me uncomfortable rather than envious.

Miss Holmes changed the subject, her voice brusque. “Miss Adler and I determined it was of importance for us to attend the party tonight at the Cosgrove-Pitts’ because of what we learned today at the Hodgeworth home. It was Miss Mayellen who was last night’s victim, and her sister and mother were gracious enough to allow us to search her bedchamber.”

“Did you find another beetle?”

“Aside from a scarab that was left on the floor next to her body, Miss Adler and I found this.” She produced a creamy notecard from some hidden pocket. “Observe.”

The engraved invitation to the party at Cosgrove Terrace this evening was familiar to me. I had the same one tucked in my small reticule. It was identical except for the faint mark in the bottom corner, hardly noticeable unless one were looking for something. “A beetle,” I said.

“Look more closely,” she said impatiently. “Do you not notice anything else of importance?”

“Perhaps if I had a bit of
light
,” I retorted, then snapped my jaw closed when she produced a little device that flared into some bright illumination. Blasted cognog. But even though I stared at the invitation, with its formal script and detail of the party, I could see nothing else out of the ordinary.

Lord Belmont & Lady Isabella Cosgrove-Pitt
extend a cordial invitation to
The King & Queen of the Roses Ball
Wednesday, the 15th of May, 1889
at eight o’clock in the evening
Beneath the Stars
Cosgrove Terrace
St. James Park

I read the words thrice, turned the card to the reverse, and found nothing remarkable but for the small beetle drawing. At last admitting defeat, I looked up at my companion.

“That is precisely the problem with most people,” she muttered. “Uncle Sherlock is right. People look, but do not
observe
. They examine, but they do not
see
. Behold,” she said, pointing her light at the invitation. “Beneath the nine, do you not discern the tiny dot? And also beneath the word
Stars
?”

I frowned and peered down. She was correct
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
now that it was pointed out to me, I saw the small dots. “But that means nothing,” I protested. “A drip of ink from a careless scribe.”

“Miss Stoker, please observe. Those dots were made purposely. See how perfectly uniform and round they are? A drip would have an oblong shape. And aside from that, notice
that the text is engraved upon the card, while those markings are not. Finally, although you likely cannot see it in our faulty light, the shade of ink used to draw the beetle is precisely the same shade of indigo ink as the two dots. From Mr. Inkwell’s specialty shop on Badgley, I’d wager.”

“So what’s the purpose of these markings? Some sort of message?”

“That would be the logical assumption,” she said crisply. “But what, I’m not yet certain. We’ll both have to be vigilant this evening to determine what it could mean. I suspect that the nine might refer to a time, thus at nine o’clock, I shall be quite attentive to anything related to stars.”

“What else?” I asked as she clicked her light closed and tucked it away. I could see her face only during the brief flashes of illumination from the streetlamps as we trundled along.

“We found no envelope or seal. So we have no way of knowing who made the marks or when—whether it was before it left the Cosgrove-Pitt residence, or afterward; whether Miss Hodgeworth did it herself for some reason or whether it was given to her that way by someone else who received the invitation or someone involved in the sending of the invitation.”

“And so the rest of the plan for tonight is to
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
what? Look for more beetles?” I asked, trying not to sound bored. I was going to be subjected to simpering young men and gossiping ladies simply so Miss Holmes could look for beetles? The most dangerous and exciting part of the night would
be to avoid getting my feet trod upon or a lemonade spilled upon my gown.

“Of course. We must look for more beetles or Sekhmet scarabs and attempt to direct conversations whenever possible to the topic of Sekhmet. Even superficially,” she added as the carriage pulled up to the drive at Cosgrove Terrace. “If anyone should show interest in Sekhmet, that could be a lead. As well, I should like to gain access to Lady Cosgrove-Pitt’s study to see if we can find the list of invitees.”

“Do you mean break into her study?”

Miss Holmes once again managed to look down at me from her seated position. “I prefer to think of it as accidentally stumbling upon the chamber. Regardless of how it occurs, once we ascertain whether Miss Hodgeworth is on the original invitation list, we will then have narrowed down the identity of the person who made the marks.”

“How?”

Miss Holmes sighed. “If Miss Hodgeworth
isn’t
on the original list, then we can assume someone else marked up an invitation—presumably his or her own—and sent it to her. Narrowing down who the invitation was originally meant for, or who marked it up, will assist us in identifying the messenger, and hopefully provide us a connection between Miss Hodgeworth and Miss Martindale.”

I blinked at her convoluted explanation. Yet it made sense. “But her mother or sister would have known whether Mayellen received an invitation to one of the most talked-about
parties of the year.” The carriage lurched forward, then stopped. I peeked out the window to see a long line of people disembarking from other vehicles. “The Roses Ball is the event of the season, and only the cr
è
me de la cr
è
me would be invited.”