The Watchmaker's Daughter (Glass and Steele Book 1) (3 page)

"Do I look like a fool?"

"My apologies." I sipped my tea and kept my eyes averted. I heard him sigh again and he shifted in the chair, as if he were regretting asking me to tea. "Why didn't you show your watch to Eddie?" I asked. "He might have been able to fix it."

"Not this watch."

"Why not? Is it American? Some American watches are different to ours, but a good watchmaker can work out what needs correcting without damaging the mechanisms. Eddie isn't a bad watchmaker, he's just limited in the types he can repair. He wasn't apprenticed to my father. Would you like me to look at it? I can assure you, I may be a mere woman, but I was apprenticed to the best watchmaker in the city, perhaps the country. The only reason I wasn't allowed into the guild and am not able to call myself a master watchmaker is because of their archaic rules that don't allow female members. It was why—"

"Miss Steele." He held up his hand for me to stop. I bit my tongue. "Thank you for your offer, but this watch is a special one. The original maker is the only one in the world who can repair it."

"That's rather arrogant of him, to make such a claim."

"Nevertheless, I'd like to find him."

I was about to press him to show it to me, but decided against it. It made no difference to me if he thought only one person could repair it. "Tell me about this arrogant watchmaker. So far, he fits the description of several men in the guild."

He seemed to find that amusing. He smiled, and his shoulders relaxed. "I admit that I've been running all over London without really knowing what I'm doing and where I'm going." He sat forward. "Would you mind helping me narrow my search?"

"I would be delighted. I take it you don't know his name."

"He called himself Chronos."

"The Greek God of Time? We can add ridiculous to arrogant. Go on."

His eyes crinkled at the corners. "I met him in a saloon in New Mexico, five years ago. He was English and told me he came from London." His eyes suddenly shadowed, and he turned serious as he studied the teacup. "He was an old man then, so it couldn't have been your father."

"Father has never left England anyway. He's lived above that shop all his life, as his father did, and his father too. Now Eddie has it," I spat.

His gaze sharpened. "Your grandfather is a watchmaker?"

"He was. He's dead."

He stared at me, unblinking. I shrank back from the force of it. "When did he die?"

"Before I was born, so he couldn't have been your mysterious Chronos either."

He passed a hand over his eyes and down his face then blew out a breath. It must be a very special watch indeed to elicit such a reaction. I could feel his anxiety from across the table.

"Let me see if I have this correct," I said. "Five years ago, you were given a watch by an Englishman in America who claims that no one else can fix it. You refuse to let anyone else attempt to fix it, so you traveled all this way to find him. You don't know his name, or where he lived in London specifically, and you only know that he must be old."

"You have it," he said, absently patting his coat pocket.

I did not mention the fact that he could be dead. No doubt he'd thought of that, and I didn't want to see disappointment shadow that handsome face. "Then you have come to the right person. I know every important watchmaker in London, and most unimportant ones too."

"I had a feeling you would be able to help me," he said. "I'll pay you for your time, of course. It may take several days to locate the right man."

Pay me! Ah, now I understood why he'd chosen me instead of Eddie, or anyone else. He must have sensed my desperation this morning and guessed I had the time to devote to such a scheme. "If you insist," I said as graciously as I could manage while trying to hold back my smile.

"What is the current wage for a shop assistant in London?" he asked.

"One with experience could hope for a pound. I don't know about any other sort of assistant."

"A pound then." He held out his hand. "Deal?"

I shook his hand firmly, as my father had always taught me when shaking a man's hand after a particularly lucrative transaction. "Deal," I repeated, mimicking his accent.

He laughed softly. "Have another cake, Miss Steele. Then let’s begin."

I ate a slice, touched my napkin to the corners of my mouth, and washed it down with a gulp of tea. I wasn't being very ladylike, but I was no lady and he didn't seem to notice.

"Most watchmakers are traditionally located in Clerkenwell and St. Luke's," I said, "but you'll find some scattered elsewhere. My ancestor set up his premises on St. Martin's Lane and we've been there ever since."

"Until your former fiancé took it from you."

I couldn't meet his gaze. It had been one thing to air my dirty linen when I'd been mad at Eddie, but it was quite another to be reminded of my shocking behavior, and by a gentleman too. "My father thought that only a man could manage the business." I don't know why I wanted to explain the situation to him. It seemed important that he know that Father loved me, but he'd been duped. "He liked precision, organization, and neatness, so he changed his will when I became engaged, thinking that Eddie could be relied upon to keep his word. No one expected him to die suddenly before the wedding. And to be fair to Father, Eddie was very sweet up until then. It wasn't until the funeral when he showed what a nasty little worm he was."

Mr. Glass remained silent, and I wished I hadn't blurted out my problems all over again. He must think me as pathetic as I felt. "My mother used to tell me that God would punish people like that after they're dead," he said.

"I wish Eddie would get his come-uppance in
this
lifetime where I could see it and enjoy it."

One corner of his mouth kicked up. "You and I think alike." He lifted his teacup in salute. Finding it empty, he refilled both mine and his.

"Will you be staying in London long after you've found the old watchmaker?" I heard myself ask with a hint of breathiness in my voice.

He shook his head. "I've business to take care of back home."

Pity. "Tell me what your watchmaker looks like," I said. "Aside from being old, that is."

"He had blue eyes, white hair, and was otherwise non-descript. I got the feeling he was running away from something or someone."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because most folk who end up in Broken Creek, New Mexico, are usually running away from something or someone."

"Is that why you were there, Mr. Glass?"

His eyes twinkled but no smile touched his lips. "I visited for the scenery."

"Is it beautiful?"

"To some."

He didn't elaborate, and I got the feeling he no longer wanted to discuss his past in Broken Creek.

"So tell me which watchmakers you've visited already," I said. "That will narrow our search."

"My lawyer informed me that most live in Clerkenwell, as you yourself noted. I began there this morning." He listed a half-dozen whose names I recognized, although I knew none personally. "I decided to stop in at Masons' and Hardacre's on my way home. Indeed, I was told that it was named Steele's and was surprised to see the painter changing the sign. I'm glad you were there, Miss Steele. Our meeting has an air of fortuitousness about it."

I smiled. "I agree. I've had a good feeling about it ever since our encounter."

"Even when I manhandled you?"

"Perhaps it started after that."

We discussed returning to Clerkenwell's watchmakers, but in the end, decided to investigate the better class of horologists elsewhere in the city. Mr. Glass insisted the man he'd met five years ago had been educated with a middle class accent and not a slum one. After spending most of the morning in Clerkenwell, he'd already learned the difference.

Fortunately I knew most of those watchmakers well, since Father had been friendly with them back when he still liked and respected the guild members. A twang of guilt over my role in his falling out with the guild twisted my gut. He'd fallen out with the other members over
my
application.

Once the teapot was empty and most of the delicious confections gone, Mr. Glass patted his jacket pocket and stood. The waiter brought hat and gloves, and Mr. Glass paid for the both of us. He escorted me to the hotel entrance, but I hung back to retrieve my valise. I had planned on waiting until he'd gone, but he seemed to be waiting for me to exit first.

"Are you staying here at Brown's?" I asked him.

"No, I have a house not far away," he said.

I didn't ask how someone who'd never set foot on English soil until two days ago could possibly have a house, but perhaps there was a family link somewhere. It would explain part of the accent and the fact he had a lawyer.

"Thank you, Miss Steele. I enjoyed your company today," he said.

Oh dear. He wanted me to leave first. Should I go and come back for my valise after he'd gone, or let him see it and know I was now homeless?

The decision was made for me by the porter I'd met upon entering. He deposited the valise at my feet. "You almost forgot your luggage," he said with a wicked gleam in his eye.

My face flared with heat. "Thank you. So kind of you to collect it for me."

He bowed and left. With a clenching of back teeth, I turned to Mr. Glass. He was frowning at my valise. Since the cat was out of the bag, I might as well give it a further nudge. I had nothing to lose.

"Mr. Glass, may I be so bold as to ask for an advance against wages? It's just that I have expenses, you see, and no other employment at present."

He blinked slowly. "Of course. I'll give you the entire week's wage now. Will that cover expenses?"

An entire week! What a generous fellow. "Most assuredly. Thank you."

He glanced around. "Pretend to grow teary," he said quietly.

It took me a moment to realize he wanted to conduct the transaction in a way that would protect my reputation. I sniffed and touched my finger to my lowered eyes while he surreptitiously folded some coins into his handkerchief. He handed it to me, and I used it to dab away my fake tears before dropping it into my reticule. The transaction was all very clandestine, and I was quite sure no one had noticed and come to the wrong conclusion—or the right one, as the case may be.

"Miss Steele, am I correct in assuming that you're on your way to a new abode today?" He nodded at the valise.

"I'm going to my friend, Catherine Mason's, house." It wasn't quite a lie, and it would be too embarrassing to tell him that I'd been thrown out of the lodging house I'd been staying in for the last two weeks.

"Is that Catherine Mason of Masons And Sons?" he asked. "Does she live above the family shop?"

"Next door. Her eldest brother now lives above the shop with his wife and child. It won't take me long by omnibus."

"If you'd like to wait here, I can have Cyclops drive you."

"Thank you, that is very generous, but I can't possibly impose on you any further. The advancement of wages is more than enough. Besides, the omnibus route isn't far and it's a pleasant day for a walk."

He glanced through the front window at the sky. "You call this a pleasant day? The sky is gray and I feel it's so close that I'll be smothered by it."

"It wouldn't be a London sky if it was blue and high." I picked up my valise and the porter held open the door for me.

Mr. Glass followed me outside and down the steps. "I'll collect you in the morning from the Masons' house," he said, brushing his thumb over his jacket pocket in what struck me as an absent-minded motion. It was at least the third time he'd done it this afternoon. Whatever was in there must be important—perhaps that strange glowing object.

"Be careful of pick pockets," I said.

At his frown, I nodded at his jacket pocket. He placed his hands behind his back. "There's nothing in there," he said stiffly. "Just a handkerchief."

"You carry two?"

"Teary eyed women are common in America."

A bubble of laughter almost escaped, but I swallowed it down. He looked quite serious and more than a little annoyed. I couldn't think how my warning would annoy anyone, but I shrugged it off.

"What time tomorrow?" I asked.

"Is nine too early?"

"Not for me." Clearly he wasn't like other men of his ilk who slept in until noon.

He gave me a curt nod and I went on my way. I couldn't help stealing a glance from the street corner, but Mr. Glass had already left. The omnibus route was indeed close, and I didn't have long to wait before one rattled by. Fortune was smiling on me that afternoon because I managed to get a seat inside, facing a gentleman reading a newspaper. When Father's eyesight deteriorated, I read him the newspaper every evening, but I hadn't bought one since his death. I'd needed to save every penny.

I quickly scanned the front page for something interesting. There were several articles, but one headline stood out above all others: AMERICAN OUTLAW SIGHTED IN ENGLAND.

My chest tightened. My blood ran cold. No, surely not. Surely the handsome and gentlemanly Mr. Glass wasn't an outlaw. Surely his recent arrival here and that of the man depicted in the newspaper's sketch with WANTED printed above it was just a coincidence. It was difficult to tell if they were one and the same from the black and white drawing. The outlaw had a scruffy beard and moustache, and wore a large hat pulled down over his face.
That's
what an outlaw looked like. He wasn't well dressed and cleanly shaved. Wild West outlaws were filthy and crude. They behaved like…cavemen.

Oh God.

What had I got myself into?

I
read
as much of the article as I could before the man and his newspaper alighted from the omnibus. It claimed that very little was known about the outlaw, not even his name. He'd been dubbed Dark Rider by the
Las Vegas Gazette
because no one had seen his face and his crimes were committed during the night. Dark Rider had held up stagecoaches, stolen horses, and murdered a lawman who'd tracked him down. A colorful account of the aborted arrest took up most of the article, but what caught my eye was the final paragraph. A reward of two thousand dollars was being offered for his capture. I didn't know how much that was in English money but it was an impressive number. It had to be more than the pound's worth of coins now sitting in my reticule. I couldn't stop thinking about it and the outlaw the rest of the way to the Masons' house.

"Of course you can stay," Catherine said, when she led me to the kitchen. "Can't she, Mama?"

Mrs. Mason smiled a weak greeting then pounded her fist into a mound of dough. "As long as your father doesn't mind."

"Why would he mind? India is my oldest friend, and she needs us now." Catherine squeezed my hand and rolled her eyes.

"He'll be home shortly," Mrs. Mason said, giving the dough a particularly heavy beating. The Masons kept no maid, and whenever I saw Catherine or her mother, they wore aprons and could be found in the kitchen. Their house was perpetually full of delicious smells.

"I don't want to be any trouble." I nibbled on my lower lip. Perhaps my coming here had been a mistake. The Masons didn't have much charity to offer. "It'll only be for the night. I'll sleep on the floor and eat the scraps from the table. Oh, and I can pay you. My new employer gave me a week's wages in advance."

Mrs. Mason stopped kneading. "A penny or two would help to ease Mr. Mason's mind." She smiled, more genuinely this time. "You're a sweet friend to our Catherine and always welcome here. It's just that…" She shook her head and glanced at the door.

"What is it, Mama?" Catherine prompted.

"You're a young woman, India, and we have two impressionable young men in the house still. That's all."

"Oh. I didn't think about that," I said.

Catherine laughed. "Ronnie and Gareth don't interest India in the least, Mama. She can do quite a bit better than my dull-witted brothers."

Her mother returned to her dough. "Even so."

"Ronnie and Gareth are like brothers to me," I said. Hopefully it was enough to reassure her that I wasn't about to trap her sons into marriage. Admittedly it stung that she thought I would. She must also know that her sons would have no interest in me, no matter what methods I used to trap them. Like Catherine, the Mason boys were all attractive and fair. They could have their pick of girls. I was too old for them, and too plain with my straight brown hair, short stature and a waist that refused to shrink to a more fashionable size no matter how tightly I pulled my corset laces.

Catherine led me by the hand up the stairs to her room. She shut the door and tossed herself onto the bed. She patted the mattress beside her. "Ronnie heard a rumor that you confronted Eddie. Is that so? Tell me what happened." Her long pale lashes fanned over her big blue eyes in innocent wonder. It was not surprising that she had several suitors vying for her hand. A few years younger than me, and quite a lot taller and prettier, the youths always followed her about like puppies. She seemed to enjoy the attention, but I expected it must get tiresome after a while.

"I tried," I told her. "I did manage to ruin a transaction with his customer." Although I was no longer sure if Mr. Glass was there to purchase a watch after all.

Catherine giggled into her hand. "Good for you. That horrible little man is…well, he's horrible. Father is refusing to send any custom his way now, even if it's something we don't stock and he knows Steele's—I mean, Hardacre's—does."

"Your father is an honorable man."

She placed her hand over mine on my lap and gave me a sympathetic smile. "I'm glad you still think so. I know it wasn't easy to forgive him after the guild made their decision, but he had to go along with the majority."

"I don't blame him."

I must have sounded convincing because she seemed to believe me. The truth was, I did blame Mr. Mason for not standing up to them. Father had said he'd sat quietly and not said a word during the meeting among the senior guild members at which my application for membership had been tabled. A mere week before that, Mr. Mason had urged me to apply. The about-face baffled me. The relationship between our two families had never been quite the same again, although my friendship with Catherine remained unchanged, thank goodness. I knew so few other women of similar age that the loss of her friendship would have been worse than my broken engagement to Eddie.

"Tell me about your new position," Catherine said. "Does it involve watches?"

"In a way."

"Good. You've got a knack for fine repair work, so Father says. He was quite impressed by how quickly you learned everything. He used to hold you up as an example of why women ought to be allowed to perform men's work if they chose." She screwed up her nose. "Sorry, India, but I am glad he stopped all that. I began to feel quite inadequate next to your perfection."

"I'm hardly perfect," I scoffed.

"Father has always appreciated brains over beauty." She patted her bouncy blonde curls. "Some men do, you know," she added, as if such men were a rarity.

"Most prefer a little of both," I said, laughing, "but not too much of either."

She broke into giggles again.

"We'd be quite the combination if we were one person," I said, still smiling. "With your looks and my watchmaking skills, we'd have all the gentlemen for miles around purchasing our watches."

"Stop putting yourself down like that, India." She nudged my elbow. "You're pretty. I don't know why you think you're not."

"Because next to you, I'm not."

"Bollocks." She giggled at the crass word. "That Eddie Hardacre has a lot to answer for, always putting you down the way he did. I don't know what you saw in him."

"Nor do I," I said on a sigh. "I suppose it was because he was the first man to pay me much attention and the first to ask me to marry him."

"He was only the first because you intimidate most other men."

"I do not!"

"You do. Ask Ronnie and Gareth. You frighten them to death."

"That's because I don't fall at their feet and run hither and thither to please them like other girls."

"That and your quick tongue. They think you're going to tease them."

I rolled my eyes, but her words were quite a shock. Did men truly find me intimidating? All men, or just pretty brainless twits like her younger brothers?

"Where's the shop located?" she asked. At my blank look, she added, "The shop where you'll be working?"

"It's not a shop. It's a short-term commission to help a gentleman find a certain watchmaker he met some years ago. I know it sounds odd," I said when she blinked back at me. "But the gentleman seems very nice and he's paying well. The work won't be much, and I can continue to make inquiries for further employment while I'm driven to every watchmaker in the city."

"See what I mean. I would never have thought of that. How clever of you. Soooo…" She nudged me again. "Is this gentleman handsome?"

"Very. He's also amiable and wealthy. We had tea at Brown's."

She gasped. "Then you must wear something prettier than that old dress." She jumped up and opened the drawer where she kept her gowns.

"Catherine, I won't fit into any of your clothes."

"Oh." She closed the drawer and regarded me with a critical eye. "Then we'll do something with your hair. I've been wanting to modernize your style for some time."

I sighed and succumbed to her ministrations. She plucked out the pins and ran her hands through the tresses.

"Your handsome gentleman employer will be surprised to see you tomorrow. I think we can cinch your waist a little more, too."

I groaned. "He's not a prospect, Catherine."

"Every unattached man is a prospect." She paused, her hands in my hair. "He isn't married, is he?"

"He didn't mention a wife, but I didn't ask."

"You must find out for certain, first thing. Now, what else can you tell me about him?"

I told her his name and that he was American with possibly some English heritage. She oohed and aahed as I thought she would and bounced on her toes when I told her he had a house in Mayfair. I told her everything I remembered from our conversation.

I didn't tell her there was quite a good chance he was a Wild West outlaw on the run.

* * *

"
S
he shouldn't stay here
." Mr. Mason's hissed voice could barely be heard over the clatter of pots and pans in the kitchen as Mrs. Mason washed dishes. He had dismissed all of us except his wife after the evening meal. Throughout dinner, he'd cast odd looks my way, as if he were seeing me in a new light. It was so strange that I'd almost asked him if something was amiss, but decided against it. He must simply feel peculiar having me stay in his house without Father, and perhaps he missed Father's company too. I'd returned to the kitchen for a drink, but stopped upon hearing Mr. Mason's whisper.

"She's too close to Catherine," he went on.

"India's a good girl, sensible," Mrs. Mason said. "Catherine could learn a thing or two from her."

I leaned closer. "You don't understand," he said heavily. Although I couldn't see him, I pictured him sitting at the table, running his hands over his bald head.

"Then explain it to me."

"I…I can't."

A chair scraped and footsteps approached. I hid in a dark recess and waited for him to leave before I returned to Catherine's room. My feet felt like logs, my heart sore. Why didn't Mr. Mason want me here? Was I truly a threat to his sons? Did he think me no longer a virtuous woman now that my father was gone? I could think of no other reason—nothing else had changed since I'd last seen him. So why did he no longer want me near his family?

"You didn't bring up the jug," Catherine said when I returned to her room.

"I'm no longer thirsty."

* * *

T
he noses
of the entire Mason household were pressed against the front window when Mr. Glass arrived in his carriage. The men tossed out words like coupler, shafts and axles as if they were coachbuilders not watchmakers, while the women argued about how much he must earn a year to own such a handsome conveyance. I opened the door and went out to greet him.

"Good morning, miss," said Cyclops from the driver's seat. "Forgive me for not coming down, but I only got one good foot left and I don't want to risk it." He flashed a grin as wide as his face and tugged on his cap.

Someone smelling of bacon sidled up behind me. "India," Mrs. Mason whispered in my ear. "As a respectable woman and good friend to your poor departed parents, I feel that it's my duty to make sure you know what you're doing."

"Why now? You were aware that Mr. Glass was collecting me yesterday."

"Yes. Well. Now I've seen his coachman and I'm having doubts. Are you sure he's not a pirate? He's only got one eye."

"I don't
think
pirates have such nice smiles." My flippant response may have been to tease her a little, but in truth, my heart was hammering. It wasn't in my character to ride in carriages with strange men. If my parents were here, they'd disallow it or insist on coming along. I knew the Masons wouldn't treat me the way they'd treat their own daughter, but it was kind of Mrs. Mason to act as my conscience. On this occasion, however, I was going to ignore it. I couldn't afford to be cautious. It wasn't just the pound that was at stake anymore, it was the two thousand American dollars.

Mr. Glass's long legs unfolded from the cabin and he stepped onto the pavement. "Good morning, Miss Steele. Mr. Mason," he added, holding his hand out to Catherine's father. "Pleased to see you again, sir."

Mr. Mason had avoided me all morning. Well, perhaps not
avoided
me. He'd gone to his workshop before I'd woken. While I wanted to know for certain why he no longer thought me a good influence on Catherine, I also didn't want to be told to my face that I was a poor example. My stretched nerves couldn't take any more strain. Besides, I was grateful not to have been thrown out of the house.