The Watchmaker's Daughter (Glass and Steele Book 1) (20 page)

"No!" Willie cried.

One of the constables caught Matt's wrist, but he pulled free.

"What's the meaning of this?" he demanded.

"You're under arrest on suspicion of being the American outlaw known as the Dark Rider." Nunce jerked his head and two constables grabbed Matt, one taking each arm.

"There's been a mistake," Matt said, his voice calm. "I'm not an outlaw."

"Let him go!" Willie lunged at one of the constables holding Matt, only to be caught from behind by another. "Get off me!" She kicked and lashed out, but couldn't reach the man behind her. His arm locked around her waist and he dragged her out of the way. Her screeching grew louder.

"You're under arrest too," Nunce told her.

"What for?" she shouted.

"For being a member of the Dark Rider's posse."

"You're a damned idiot fool!"

"Let her go," Duke said, stepping forward. He tried to separate his hands, but only managed to get himself more tangled in the thread. "God damn it!" he shouted, resorting to brute strength and still failing.

Miss Glass dropped the spool and came to stand by me. "Stop this at once," she said with haughty crispness. "There's been a mistake. This gentleman is my nephew, and the nephew of Lord Rycroft. Release him at once."

Nunce touched his hat brim. "I cannot, ma'am. He's the Dark Rider."

"Who or what is the Dark Rider?"

"American outlaw. Don't you read the papers?"

She bristled. "Of course not. I've no interest in idle gossip."

Nunce signaled for another of his men to grab Duke. "Take him, too. He sounds American." He sized me up.

"She's English," Matt said. "A friend of my aunt's. I hardly know her."

Nunce grunted but didn't order anyone to arrest me. One of the constables took hold of Duke's arm, but Duke jerked away. The constable tackled him, and with his hands still tied, Duke couldn't defend himself. They both crashed to the floor.

"That was uncalled for," Matt growled.

Nunce merely shrugged.

"Duke!" Willie screamed. "Duke, are you hurt?"

Miss Glass's fingers gripped my arm. I closed my hand over hers, hoping to reassure her somewhat. I don't think it helped. She could most likely feel my body shaking through the connection.

"Contact Commissioner Munro," Matt instructed Nunce, struggling to pull free of the two constables who held him. "He'll set you straight."

Nunce snorted. "That's what they all say."

Willie stomped on the toe of the bobby holding her and managed to pull free. She ran to Duke, who was struggling to sit up on the floor, but was caught again by the long-limbed youth in uniform. She smashed her fist into his cheek, drawing blood, before he grasped her hands and twisted them behind her.

"You're hurting me!" she cried.

Matt lurched to his left, using his superior weight and height to force the constable on that side to stumble. The one on his other side also lost his balance, and Matt was able to pull free of them both.

But his freedom was short lived. The last of the constables threw a punch at Matt's jaw. While Matt managed to dodge it, the interruption gave the other bobbies precious seconds to recover and throw punches of their own. One hit Matt's mouth, the other his stomach. He doubled over, coughing.

Miss Glass whimpered and clutched her throat. I turned her so she wasn't facing the scene and patted her back. Yet I felt anything but soothed myself. My heart thundered and every part of me shook.

"Stop at once!" I shouted. "Inspector Nunce, control your men. You're upsetting an elderly lady with this unnecessary display."

But it was Matt who responded, not Nunce. He stopped fighting. "I'll go with you," he said. "Willie and Duke too."

"No!" Willie shouted. "Why should you go, Matt? You've done nothing wrong."

"We'll sort it out at the station. Vine Street?"

Nunce nodded. "Check they have no weapons hidden on their person," he said to his men.

His constables checked pockets, removing every item they found and placing them on the hall table. Among the handkerchiefs and coins sat Matt's special silver watch.

"Take them away," Nunce said.

Willie and Duke gasped. "Your watch!" Willie cried. "Matt!" She struggled against the constable trying to force her through the door.

"May I take my watch with me?" Matt asked Nunce.

Nunce pursed his lips, looked at the watch, looked at Matt, then said, "No. You have no need to tell the time in the holding cells."

A bead of sweat trickled down Matt's temple. His breathing turned ragged. His face was the color of cold ash. The two constables on either side of him marched him forward.

"He has to take the watch," Duke said to Nunce. "Please. It's important. He'll die without it."

Die!

Miss Glass sobbed into my shoulder. I tried patting her back harder, but it was useless. I couldn't offer support when I needed it badly myself. My gaze connected with Matt's over the top of her head. What I saw in his eyes brought burning tears to mine. His illness savaged him, yet it wasn't that which made my heart ache. It was the sorrow and disappointment I saw in his face.

He thought I'd betrayed him. He thought I'd told the police that he was the Dark Rider.

He wasn't the only one. "You did this!" Willie hissed at me.

"No," I said. "I didn't."

But she shouted over the top of me, and couldn't have heard. "You heartless witch! If he dies, I'll come looking for you. I'll cut you up—"

"Willie!" Matt's sharp voice could hardly be heard over her ranting.

Nunce and his constables marched Duke and Matt outside too, and my heart sank even further when I saw Cyclops join them, restrained by another two bobbies. Everyone seemed to be shouting. I caught snatches of pleas, begging Nunce to allow Matt to have the watch. The inspector continued to refuse.

"It's
her
fault!" Willie screamed. "You've condemned him to death, India!"

I shook my head, but they weren't looking at me and wouldn't have seen.

"If he doesn't get that watch," she continued, "his death will be on
your
conscience."

M
iss Glass
and I stood clinging to one another in silent horror. Willie's words rang in my head, clanging like a bell. She thought I'd been behind the arrest. They all did, including Matt. Yet it wasn't that which made me feel sick to my core. It was Willie's desperate pleas, her wild, fanciful claims that he would die without that watch. There must be medicine inside it, not opium as I first thought.

I handed Miss Glass over to Polly, who emerged from the rear of the house with raw fear in her wide eyes. "Everything will be all right," I assured them both. My calm and confident voice seemed to rally Polly, at least. "Take Miss Glass upstairs," I told the maid. "See that she has everything she needs."

I felt anything but calm and confident. I couldn't stop shaking.
He needed the watch or he'd die
. I picked it up by its chain. A wave of heat washed over me, rushing up my arm from my hand.

I dropped the watch and jumped back. It throbbed once then stilled.

Throbbed
.

Inanimate objects did not throb. They didn't grow warm. They weren't alive.

I must have been mistaken. I picked up the watch again. Once more, heat flooded me, beginning at my hand and traveling up my arm with such speed and force that my breath whooshed out in surprise.

But I didn't let go. I cradled it in my palm, its chain dangling between my fingers. The case pulsed, like a heart restarting after a stoppage, but did not do so again. It remained warm, though not hot as it had been on initial touch, and I could feel the warmth through my entire body, as if my veins carried it along with my blood. When Matt held the watch, his veins glowed, but mine did not.

It was an incredible device. I couldn't feel any medicine seeping into me, yet somehow it must be able to emit a substance. I turned it over and studied the back. There were no distinguishing features, no holes or slits for medicine to seep through.

I opened the case. My breath hitched. Not because it was filled with medicine, but because it wasn't. The watch looked like every other watch I'd ever worked on. The dial and hands were simple, plain, the Roman numerals clearly marked in bronze.

I took it up to my rooms and used my tools to open the housing at the dressing table. The mechanism consisted of wheels and screws, tiny springs, pinions, and an escapement, just like an ordinary watch. I'd worked on hundreds like it. Any watchmaker could have made it. According to the etching in the metal, it was made by A.W. Waltham, NY.

New York. It was an American watch. So why was Matt scouring London for his watchmaker? Surely he had looked inside the case and seen the maker's name.

I closed the watchcase and stared at it for a long time. Somehow this watch grew warm when I touched it, and when Matt did too. Somehow it came to life. And somehow it was responsible for keeping Matt alive.

Magic.

The word flittered through my mind like a butterfly, daintily and carefully at first, but growing louder, stronger, with each passing second. I tried to dismiss it, but couldn't.

I slipped the watch into my waistcoat pocket where it soon warmed the skin over my lower ribs. I raced downstairs and out the door.

* * *

V
ine Street Police Station
cast a long shadow in the late afternoon and presented an austere front to the world. Iron bars covered the windows at street level and a bobby stood at the door, stiff and tall. More visitors than I would have expected came and went, though there were few constables. Most would use the rear courtyard entrance after apprehending criminals, I supposed. Which barred window housed Matt and the others? Or did their holding cell not have a window?

I plucked up some courage and strode past the constable at the door. "Afternoon, miss," he said.

Inside was much like any office, only staffed with uniformed policemen. Behind the long front counter ranged several desks, and I spotted no less than four doors leading into the wings of the vast building. I inquired after Matt at the counter where the bushy-browed policeman glowered back at me.

"He's not allowed visitors," he said, returning to his paperwork.

The watch in my waistcoat pocket throbbed. "Can you give him something for me?"

"No," he said without looking up.

I blew out a breath. "I only need to see him for a moment. You can have someone accompany me to make sure I don't help him escape."

My attempt at a joke was met with a scowl. He picked up his pen and dipped it into the inkwell. The scratching on the ledger page grated on my already taut nerves.

"May I speak with Detective Inspector Nunce?" I asked.

"Regarding?"

"Regarding Mr. Matthew Glass."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you're going to waste his valuable time by asking him if you can visit Glass in the holding cells, and he's only going to tell you the same thing I have—no."

"You could at least look at me when you speak to me."

He lifted his gaze but not his head. "No." He returned to his ledger.

The watch in my pocket pulsed again, stronger this time. What did it expect me to do? "Please tell Inspector Nunce that I'd like to see him."

The constable sighed. "Miss, I told you, he's busy."

"It's a matter of life and death!" I punctuated the sentence with a slap of my hand on the counter. A dozen heads looked up from their paperwork.

The constable rolled his eyes and muttered what sounded like "Bloody women," under his breath.

The door nearest me burst open and Nunce himself barreled through. "Fetch a doctor!"

"Sir?" the bobby asked.

"A doctor!" Nunce pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his sweating brow.

My blood chilled. "Is the doctor for Mr. Glass?"

Nunce narrowed his gaze at me. "You're from Glass's house."

"I'm his aunt's companion. She's Lord Rycroft's sister."

"No need to tell me again. His friends keep on saying it, too, and I don't bloody care if he's the Prince of Wales. He's not going nowhere until he faces trial. Unless he dies, of course. It ain't looking too good for him."

Oh God. I clutched my throat, and gathered my scattered wits. "Please, Inspector, I need to see him. For his aunt's sake." I had an idea, and before he could refuse me entry, I said, "I have his medicine."

"What sort of medicine?"

"It's in this vessel." I pulled out the watch. "I know it doesn't look medicinal, but American manufacturers like to make their medicine bottles into novelties. So Mr. Glass tells me."
Please don't ask me to open it.

"I'm not sure it'll be able to help him," Nunce said. "He's unconscious."

I covered my gasp with my hand. Tears welled in my eyes. "It's not too late. Please don't let him die, sir, when help is at hand."

He lifted the barrier. "Come through."

He had the constable check me for weapons. When he gave the all-clear, I hurried after Nunce, along lime-washed corridors and past wooden doors, all closed. Each door housed a small rectangular panel designed to slide open and allow communication between those inside and those without.

Someone thumped on one of the doors as we passed, and others called out, their voices muffled by the thick walls. Up ahead, three constables surrounded a door. One looked through the panel and was calling to the person on the other side. There was no answer.

"Still out of it, sir," the bobby said when Nunce inquired after Matt's state.

"May I administer the medicine?" I said. "I'm a trained nurse," I added as inspiration struck. "That's why I'm companion to his aunt. She requires nursing from time to time."

He hesitated.

"Come now, sir. What do you think will happen? Your constable has checked me for weapons, Mr. Glass is incapable of standing, let alone fighting, and I am a mere woman surrounded by policemen."

"Sir, it looks like he has stopped breathing," the constable at the door said.

The blood drained from my face. I bit on my lower lip but couldn't stop it wobbling.

"Open the door," Nunce said. "Let her in."

The constable seemed to take an age to find the right key hanging from the ring at his belt. Finally he placed it into the keyhole and unlocked the door. I pushed it open myself and ran to Matt, stretched out on the floor on his side. The red gash on his lip and the blue-black bruise around it stood out starkly against his deathly pale face. He was so still, I feared it was too late. Then he exhaled, albeit weakly.

I heard the policemen come in behind me, but none spoke as I pressed the watch into Matt's hand. I cradled his head and shoulders in my lap. With my back to the policemen, and his hands covered by my skirts, his exposed skin was shielded from sight.

Inch by inch, his body warmed, beginning with the hand that held the watch. I kept his fingers wrapped around it so that he didn't drop it, and watched as the glow chased away the sickly pall all the way up to his hairline.

His chest expanded. He sucked in a deep breath and spluttered. I felt the breath against my throat and smiled through my tears.

"Thank God," I whispered. I held him close, not sure if I should let him go yet. If he was still glowing, Nunce would see. Besides, it felt so good to hold him. I had never held a man like that before.

His body felt warm now, alive with his steady breathing, and no longer limp. His free hand closed over mine, so solid and wonderful. Neither of us wore gloves.

Nunce cleared his throat. "That's some strong medicine."

Matt withdrew his hands from mine and slipped the watch into his pocket while his body was still hidden from view. His veins immediately stopped glowing. He looked up at me and smiled the most dazzling smile, which tugged something deep inside me. I smiled back. He was alive. That was all that mattered.

"Give me a moment," he said to Nunce. "I've just been brought back from the dead by a beautiful angel. Forgive me if I'd like to savor it as long as possible."

One of the policemen chuckled.

"Get up, Glass," Nunce said in his monotone. "Miss? If you please."

Matt stood and held out his hand to me. I took it and allowed him to assist me to my feet. He stroked my wet cheeks with the pad of his thumb. "I knew you would save me one day," he murmured. "I just didn't think it would be today."

"It wasn't me," I said. "I didn't tell them you were the Dark Rider." I wanted him to know.
Needed
him to know.

He touched my chin. "I believe you."

"All right then, out you go, miss," Nunce said, coming to stand beside us. "Constable Stanley will escort you."

I shook my head. This was all wrong. Matt couldn't be the Dark Rider. I had no evidence to refute his claim, except for the feeling in the base of my stomach. I rounded on Nunce. "He's innocent," I said. "You have no evidence against him, except some malicious gossip."

"That's enough from you, miss." He shooed me off with his hands.

"I will not leave! This is an outrage. You're holding an innocent man—"

"India." Matt grasped my shoulders and forced me to face him. He looked healthy, his color normal, but exhaustion still shadowed him. He needed to be home, resting properly. "There's no need to create a ruckus. Once Commissioner Munro knows I'm here, he'll see that I'm freed." He glared at Nunce. "As long as the commissioner is told, that is."

"The commissioner's too busy to listen to stories," Nunce said. "If I sent for him every time a perpetrator asked, he'd never get anything done."

Ruckus. I'd heard that word three times in as many days, whereas I'd only ever heard it used once before that, and it was in reference to a riot in America, reported in an English newspaper. The reporter, however, had been an American at the scene.

I stared at Matt. He stared back at me and frowned. "I know who it is," I whispered, feeling sick yet relieved too. "Ruckus."

At a nod from Nunce, one of the constables took my elbow and steered me toward the door. The one with the keys held it open.

"India?"

I glanced over my shoulder at Matt. He was still frowning, concern etched into every tired groove of his face. "You'll be free soon," I told him. "I know who the Dark Rider really is."

"Who?"

"Dorchester."

Matt's face darkened. "How do you know?"

"That's enough," Nunce said. "Get her out of here, Stanley."

I planted my feet on the floor and folded my arms. Constable Stanley didn't come closer. "There's a fellow going by the name of Dorchester," I told Nunce. "
He's
the Dark Rider." He
had
to be the Dark Rider and not the sheriff fellow. The sheriff had no need to hide his accent from the world and sneak around the city.

Nunce scratched his ragged beard. "Where can I find him?"

"Near Piccadilly, but I don't know exactly where. And even that might have been a lie."

"Why should I believe you, miss? Perhaps you're trying to trick me into releasing Mr. Glass, here. What evidence do you have of the Dorchster fellow's guilt?"

"He used the word ruckus."

He gave me a blank look. "So?"