The Curse of the Brimstone Contract

by Corrina Lawson

  “I don’t understand. Are you suggesting I defy my father?”

  “Yes. There are some who do not deserve your loyalty. He’s one of them.”

  There was so much hostility behind the words that Joan took a step back. His vehemence smacked of a deeper anger inside him than she’d ever sensed. Anger that gave her a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, much as Milverton’s presence did. “What aid would you offer me?”

  He stared down at the wood floor. “That’s not my place, miss.”

  “You urge me to disobey but have no help for me.” Bah.

  “That is, my help is limited, but if you would trust me with whatever your errand was this morning, I might be able to do something,” he said.

  Aha. There was the catch. He knew she had been gone. Trust your instincts, Sherringford had said, and tell no one. She would follow both pieces of advice. “I wasn’t out earlier today, Mr. Roylott.” One word from him to her father and she would be locked in her room until her marriage. “I have been in my room all day.”

  Roylott cleared his throat. “Of course. But do not forget to finish the gloves.”

  She held his gaze, as she had Sherringford’s stare earlier. If she could stand up to the commanding detective, she could stand up to this. “I appreciate the concern over my marriage arrangements, but this is something I’ll face by myself.”

  “You shouldn’t be alone,” he snapped.

  “I’m not alone,” she said, then bit her tongue.

  “Do you have a young man, then? Someone to stand for you?” he pried. “Is that where you went?”

  I can stand for myself. “You are implying that I’m a disobedient daughter with no sense of family loyalty?”

  Roylott sighed. “I only wish to point out, if you have someone, this would be the time for him to act.”

  “That sounds very romantic, but such a bold young man is not in my life at present, and likely will never be.” Somehow, she couldn’t picture Sherringford as a besotted lover, breaking down her door to save her from a fate worse than death.

  She could imagine him coldly confronting Sir August Milverton about his interest in her, however.

  “Excuse me, I must check on the seamstresses and then go to the office to look over some sales records. Have a good day, sir.”

  “You as well,” he said stiffly and walked away.

  She took a moment after he left to settle her mind. Add Roylott telling her parents she had been out to her list of worries. That pile of torn clothes awaiting mending next to her sewing machine seemed even more attractive. Mending them would accomplish something. She had a business to run, for whatever little time was left.

  Down the hall, she heard the familiar sounds of needles pushing through cloth and the chugs and hisses of steam from the boiler and steam engine that now powered the sewing machines.

  The seamstresses were hard at work.

  She went inside the sewing room. The women were bent over their steam-powered sewing machines, feeding cloth through to the needles. Their machines were neatly arranged in rows of four desks wide and four desks deep. Despite the open window in the back, the room was stifling. Steam seeped from the boiler at the back of the room. The air, heated by the overflow from the same boiler, was thick and full of moisture. Even though it was early, some of the women’s headscarves were drenched with sweat.

  Each seamstress worked a twelve-hour shift, seven a.m. to seven p.m. Her mother said it was best to keep all the girls in one place so their work could be overseen rather than letting them work at home, and besides, the equipment was superior here. Joan suspected her mother worried that some of the girls would leave with valuable fabric and never come back.

  Yet the heat and stifling air in the room was a serious problem. Joan had tried to solve that by keeping the windows open at all times, even in the winter. She had insisted on having a sink installed, with cups stacked nearby for fresh water.

  She had also instituted a thirty-minute break for lunch and a short evening break in which the seamstresses had leave to walk around. Joan rubbed her bruised wrists. Before the argument over her impending marriage, her last physical confrontation with her father had been over the lunch breaks. Her father thought five minutes was long enough and did not want to pay the women for time they did not work. He had worked as hard in his youth, he claimed. So should they.

  It had cost her in bruises but she had eventually won the argument.

  She poured a cup of water, eyeing the clothing being sewn and wondering how long Krieger & Sims could continue to employ everyone. They would run out of work in about three weeks.

  “Any word on what killed Lady Grey, miss?”

  Darcy, the eldest of the seamstresses, asked the question without even looking up from her machine. Her question was natural, given how the shop had been abuzz with the potential of Lady Grey’s patronage.

  “An accidental death,” Joan said. “Bad for us, but worse for Lady Grey.”

  “So tragic,” Darcy said.

  “Yes.” Joan resisted the urge to rub her own neck.

  Darcy cleared her throat. “Will there be new orders to keep us busy, Miss Krieger?”

  Well, Darcy came to her point far quicker than Roylott had come to his. Darcy wanted to know if she should start looking for other employment. “Not at this time but there is a solution on the horizon, Darcy. I promise.” She smiled.

  “If you say so, Miss Krieger, I believe you.” Around her, the rest of the seamstresses bobbed their heads to add weight to Darcy’s words. They trusted her to save them. My God, Joan thought, what have I just done? She had no authority to make such a vow and certainly little hope of keeping it. She drew out her grandmother’s pendant and cupped her hand around it. She would have hope until the bitter end.

  “I’ll do my best,” she said to Darcy, pitching her voice so everyone could hear it.

  “Your best is all anyone can do.” Darcy bent back to her work.

  Joan left the room and walked down the hallway to the offices. Her father called her name with some urgency and she picked up her pace, lifting her skirts to keep them out of the way. She smoothed down her bustle before stepping inside his office.

  Her father and Sir August Milverton were present.

  Milverton looked much as she remembered. An older man, perhaps fifty, but with an upright carriage and the physique of someone used to being active. Wrinkles lined his face but his teeth were straight and clean. He might have been quite handsome in his youth, and there were still vestiges of that in his strong cheekbones and alert eyes.

  He might be older but she could not complain of his looks.

  Her father and Milverton beamed at her with wide smiles on their faces.

  This could not be good.

  “It is decided,” her father said. “You and Sir August shall be married on the morrow.”

  Chapter Six

  “Completely impossible!” Joan sputtered.

  “Why?” Father asked in a mild but deceptive voice. She knew that voice signaled a fit if she did not acquiesce.

  She must buy time in case Sherringford found a solution. Tomorrow was too soon.

  “What does my mother say to such haste?”

  “She will agree,” her father said. “It is past time, Joan, and this is a fine match.”

  “Do you doubt me, Miss Krieger?” Sir August said. “I assure you, I will do my utmost to make you a good husband. I take marriage vows very seriously.”

  So do I. That is why I do not want to make them to you.

  His gaze roamed over her as if she was being assessed, like goods to be purchased. He was not supposed to be in the women’s section of the shop, but over the past year, he had found many excuses to accompany her father to the offices and speak to her. It had not bothered her more than momentarily until now.

  She curled her hand around the pendant again. Her fiancé hid something about his interest in her. She would view any contact with him through that prism.

&n
bsp; “Sir August, I believe that your intentions are exactly as you state them,” Joan said. There. A safe answer.

  Milverton smiled. She nearly shivered. It was the smile that did him in. For some reason, it always seemed leering, as if he was already thinking of undressing her. He saw her body. He did not see her. And that mattered far more than his being a gentile or their class differences.

  “But I barely know you.”

  “No matter. The marriage is satisfactory to me.” Her father’s words were nearly a growl. He began to tremble. He clenched his hands into fists.

  “What are your objections to my suit, Joan?” Sir August asked.

  Nothing. Everything. “Tomorrow is so soon! I do not have a proper dress. Above all, a seamstress should have the right dress. And I have not had a chance to invite my cousins. I should love for them to be there. And shoes, I do not know if I have shoes!” Her voice rose in real panic. “Where are we to be married? And, after, how do I get my affairs in order? And I have not yet even seen where I am going to live and—”

  She cut herself off, unnerved by her own ranting. How appalling. The stress of the situation had bled out in front of Sir August.

  “That is a valid list of concerns,” Sir August said firmly. “From my experience with my sisters, it seems to me that every woman worries about what her wedding day will be like. I have sprung it upon you without warning, though I have good reasons.”

  “What reasons, sir?” she asked.

  He hesitated a second before answering. “Well, to protect you, of course.”

  He had lied. No, he was not trustworthy at all.

  “Any woman would want a proper dress,” he continued. “I believe I have a solution to that.”

  He smiled at her. No, he smiled down at her, though he meant to appear to be kind.

  “As it happens, I have my mother’s wedding dress in my home. That, I trust, would be suitable.”

  He smiled that smile that made her shiver again. She wondered why she was so afraid of it.

  “Is this acceptable?” he said.

  Delay, delay. “The dress will likely need to be altered,” she said, regaining some strength to her voice. “This cannot be done in a day, especially as I have promised to finish the Merrill dress today for an impatient client. It would not do to send business away under our current situation.”

  Sir August nodded. “Of course not. Your loyalty does you credit. Then we will delay two days while your seamstresses sort this out. Will that be enough time to make the alterations?”

  “What about inviting friends and family? I don’t want to face the day alone.”

  “I would be happy to have a gathering after the ceremony at our new home to celebrate our union. Hmm…that might take time to organize.” His brows furrowed. “My head cook and my housekeeper will have my head if I do not provide proper warning. I believe you might be right about the rush. Next week, then.” He stared at her, as if trying to read the answer in her face. “How does that suit you?”

  She nodded, hardly able to speak.

  “There, you see, it will not be so bad, Joan,” her father said.

  She barely heard his words. A week. She had a week’s reprieve during which Sherringford could do his job and she could question Sir August. She should push for longer.

  Sir August clasped her hands. His movement was so unexpected that she froze. “I know this is new to you, my dear. You’ll get used to it.”

  His hands were cold, and he had a heavy touch, so different from Sherringford’s gentle caress.

  “This is very strange to me.” He called her “my dear”? Oh no.

  “I know,” he said. “But your very life depends on being married as soon as possible. You have to believe that.”

  “Do you know something I do not?”

  Sir August and her father exchanged a glance. “He means your future will be secure,” her father said.

  That was not what he had meant at all.

  “I only have to look at how things have become so difficult here to know that being with me will keep you safe.”

  “I believe that you wish to give me a fresh start in life, Sir August,” she said carefully. Trust her instincts, Sherringford had said. That might be part of her mage gift. And her instinct said to not trust Sir August.

  “That’s a good girl,” Sir August said and let go of her hands. “I ask an indulgence. You said you had not even seen where you were going to live. Will you come with me now to see your future home? Perhaps you will rest easier once you visit and see your new life set before you.”

  She looked at her father. He nodded, urging her to accept. She thought of Roylott’s badgering and Sherringford’s suggestion that she should investigate her fiancé. Why not? “I will come.”

  Milverton bowed to her. “This will be my pleasure, Joan. I think you will be pleasantly surprised.”

  He was the picture of courtesy, yet that was the second time he’d used her given name. Strictly correct, as they were to be married, but he’d not asked her permission. And that said all there was to be said about him. What aura was about him that he had this negative effect on her? It was the exact opposite of how she had instinctively reacted to Sherringford, even though he had been far more curt with her.

  “Let me change for an outing and find a coat, milord,” she said.

  Chapter Seven

  Joan chose her best dress, nearly as fine as a lady’s dress, set a hat on her head, put a matching shawl around her shoulders, and cursed herself for vanity but looked at her reflection in the mirror to ensure all was well anyway.

  Sir August was waiting for her on the street outside, next to his vehicle. He snapped to attention as he saw her. “For you, my future bride.” He handed her a pair of goggles. “I realize these are a bit rough on the hair and the hatpins, but my vehicle moves rather fast and it is not enclosed. We’ve had some unfortunate accidents with insects getting into the eyes.”

  Bride. Ack! She accepted the goggles, careful to avoid his hands. Even through their gloves, she did not want to touch him. The goggles were made of fine leather, the stitching was very crisp and clear, and they were nicely padded around the eyes. Lady Grey had wished for just such a pair.

  Sir August waited patiently while she fitted them on her face. He took her hand to help her climb aboard the steam carriage. It was annoying that men could simply raise their knees high enough, yet women were encumbered by all these skirts. Not to mention the corset that restricted bending of the upper body, making driving such a chore. That was why Lady Grey had requested something “radical” to wear.

  Clothes shouldn’t hold women back from doing anything men could do. But, as she knew too well, clothes were often used to imprison females.

  Once she was seated, Sir August walked to the front of the carriage and turned the crank. The engine sputtered to life. He clapped his hands, hopped aboard and took his seat next to her.

  She had to admit, the cushioned seat was pleasant on her bottom.

  “This must be a very well-built machine,” she said. “I have seen many people crank their steam vehicles much longer to no effect.”

  He smiled as he placed his hands on the stick that would steer the carriage. “This one is powered by mage coal. That burns much more cleanly and provides an even distribution of steam. It never fails to start.”

  “Mage coal?” Of course, mage coal. He was quite rich. “Are you blessed with magic, sir?” She closed her hand around her pendant again, then caught herself and released it. She must stop drawing attention to it, especially if she was around people who might be mages.

  He sighed. “No, alas. My father had the gift but I did not receive it, nor did any of my sisters. Only my younger brother did, and he’s no longer with us.” He waited for an opening in traffic and slid in.

  She wanted to ask about his brother, but that seemed a sensitive subject. “I keep hearing rumors about a mage-coal-powered train that will travel at high speeds between London and Scotla
nd. How much of that is true?”

  “It is being worked on. I hope it becomes reality soon. Careful, now, as I show you what this carriage can do. Hold on!”

  She tightened her fingers on the handrests as they picked up speed.

  So fast! Much faster than the cabs she took routinely to make deliveries. Or perhaps it was going at the same speed as a cab, but it seemed faster because they were completely exposed to the wind. They zipped by a cab to her right. No, this was definitely faster.

  After a minute of the world whizzing by, her enjoyment won out over her fear. She relaxed and smiled. She even let go of the handrest. Well, only with one hand. And she used that to check and make certain she had not lost all her hairpins.

  Sir August glanced over at her, also smiling. It was the first genuine smile she had witnessed from him. He enjoyed this, without reservation or ulterior motive.

  She looked away and back at the streets flashing by.

  They turned from the merchants’ district and drove into a residential area. For a moment, buildings disappeared completely and were replaced by the large park that occupied Central London. She had heard one could buy a ride on a dirigible that was anchored on the tower in the middle of the park. She lacked the money to purchase such a ride. Wearing her adventurer dress was the closest she had come to such a thing.

  Below the dirigible was a flat, grassless plain. Once, it had been verdant and lush like the rest of the park, and occupied by the tallest of trees. But it had been scorched beyond repair a decade ago when two mages from rival noble houses had dueled over a woman. Or so the stories went. What was certain was that a strange fire had somehow utterly consumed the area. Happily, it had not spread to the rest of the park. The tales said that the magical duelists had both been killed. Whatever the origin of the fire or the fate of those who had started it, their destruction lived on, even ten years later. Neither grass nor any other plants grew there.

  Proof enough for most people that the fire had been magical in nature and how destructive that magic could be.

  It might have been a coincidence, but a month after the fire Queen Victoria’s royal decree had outlawed dueling of any sort. Oh, there were rumors. There were always rumors about the lordly mages, from mages dueling with swords to those armed with jewels, and one even said that two mages had dueled by sending their magical horses at each other.