“Yes, of course.” He appeared to fidget a bit on his feet. “I did have a purpose for the visit. I was…er… Well, I was curious as to what current case you might be working on. As you’re certainly aware, normally our paths tend to cross when you are investigating a matter, and I couldn’t help but notice I hadn’t—er—encountered you or Miss Stoker for several weeks. More than two months, in fact. Since the—er—disconcerting events related to the Theophanine chess queen. I thought perhaps if you were on a case, we might—I might— Well, I was merely curious.”
I blinked. I wasn’t certain what to make of this manufactured speech. He claimed he had come to discover what I was working on—which, of course, was a large, empty nothing—in order to…offer his assistance?
As if I needed it.
I was, after all, a Holmes.
A disgraced one, but still a Holmes. After all, even Uncle Sherlock had been outsmarted at least once—by Miss Adler, in fact. And he had recently indicated he was being quite challenged by a mathematician named Dr. Moriarty.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt your day,” Grayling said awkwardly. “I suppose I should let you get on to it. But, please, Miss Holmes…I know how you like to stick your nose into places where it really shouldn’t be—”
“Is that a comment on the size of my proboscis?” I retorted sharply.
“No, good gad, not at all, Miss Holmes,” he stammered. Then, mouth flat and eyes averted, he shook his head, giving a brief bow. “I’m sorry to have bothered you. However much you might dislike me, Miss Holmes, I do hope you’ll heed my warning about The Carnelian Crow. Good day.”
Before I could respond, he turned and stalked from the laboratory. I stared after him, stunned by the turn our conversation had taken and the sentiments he had expressed—dislike him? Why, that was absurd…wasn’t it?—and heard him pause to snatch up his hat from the parlor.
“Inspector,” I said, suddenly galvanized into action, starting after him…but it was too late. I heard the front door close behind him, and by the time I reached the entrance, he’d climbed onto his steamcycle and was gunning the (probably illegal) engine. Its roar, along with the fact that he’d pulled on the protective headpiece and was looking away from my front door, made it impossible for me to gain his attention.
As he wheeled the cycle around and blazed off, I stared after him for a moment, wondering what precisely had happened. It had been a very strange conversation, and it unsettled me. I don’t like ambiguity, and the reason for his visit was completely confusing.
For some reason, that entire event took over my thoughts—superseding even the intriguing information I’d learned about the tiny red charm—and I realized I wanted to talk to someone who actually might know more about a topic (specifically, the male species) than I did.
I needed to speak with Evaline.
Miss Stoker
~ Wherein Our Heroine’s Life is Completely Tossed Up ~
Everything was just fine until Florence ruined my breakfast.
Well, not exactly fine.
In fact, things weren’t really all that great, to be honest. I’d had yet another sleepless night. Partly because I’d spent most of it skulking around Whitechapel, Smithfield, and Haymarket, hunting the UnDead.
I’d staked a few, too, of course. That was to be expected.
But the real reason I hadn’t slept yet again wasn’t so much because I’d been out all night. It was because I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of that sneaky, kiss-stealing rogue called Pix.
In the past, I’d never had any trouble finding him. In fact, more often than not, he found me. Loitering beneath my bedroom window. Showing up in disguise at society balls. Serving in an opium den (the memory of him in that scandalous Far Eastern garb of sleeveless and open vest—with no shirt—made me flush every time I thought about it). Skulking in a church at midnight—dressed in priest’s robes! Even climbing into my chamber by moonlight.
But it had been almost two months since I’d seen him at all.
Last night I’d finally given in to my irritation—all right, fear—and gone to Fenman’s End, the dingy, dangerous pub in the scariest part of London that Pix owned and operated. If Pix wouldn’t come to me, I’d come to him. And I’d give him a piece of my mind. After all, the man had kissed me more than once. He’d even given me a gift: a unique vampire-hunting weapon. It was a small, gun-sized crossbow with perfect-sized stakes, made specially for me.
And since then…nothing.
As usual, Bilbo was behind the bar. He knew me and glanced over as I sat down. Since I had learned the hard way that his loyalty lay firmly with Pix, I figured if anyone had information, it would be Bilbo.
Yet, even as I sat down on the creaky stool, I was angry with myself. I had no business chasing after a slick pickpocket. Even if his kisses made my knees weak. He was a criminal, after all.
“Wot’ll ye ’ave, Molly-Sue?” Bilbo asked as he swept by on the way to get someone else’s ale.
Anger and frustration made me brave. “I’ll have an ale.”
The barkeep squinted at me. “Ye will, will ye?”
“You heard me.”
He turned to spit a stream of something long and dark onto the floor, and my stomach lurched. Maybe I’d be better off not having anything to drink here. “What e’er ye say.”
Moments later, he set the glass in front of me. It had a thick head of foam that slopped over the side, and there were fingerprints decorating the glass. I decided I wasn’t ready to try ale yet. “I need to see Pix.”
“You’n ’alf o’ London, there, Molly-Sue.”
That made my stomach lurch again. “What do you mean?”
“I mean ’e ain’t ’ere. Ain’t been ’ere neither. And people bin in ’ere arsking questions—jus’ like you.”
I tried not to show my rising concern. “Do you know where I can find him?”
“No. Ain’t seen ’im.”
“Do you think he’s…is he in trouble?” I asked, ignoring the demands from the other customers waiting for Bilbo.
The barkeep shook his head. “’e’s always in trouble.”
My heart sank. “If you see him,” I said, sliding off the stool, “tell him I need to speak to him.”
Bilbo’s shoulders drew up. His expression was serious. Even worried. “I’ll tell ’im.” He didn’t sound very certain.
I left Fenman’s End then, more shaken than I had been when I arrived. And all without breaking anyone’s thumb or being involved in any sort of altercation. That was some sort of record for me, but one I couldn’t dwell on.
But why should I worry about Pix? I asked myself as I walked down the filth-strewn block toward Seven Dials. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself.
But I couldn’t help but remember the way the Ankh had spoken to him. She knew things about him. She’d tried to kill him—and, in fact, had succeeded.
What if she’d tracked him down again?
Then I brushed those worries away. Pix was slick and fast and very smart. He’d probably show up in the next day or so, acting as if nothing had happened. And I might even let him kiss me.
Dawn was breaking as I got into bed. Though I should have been tired, I tossed and turned. I couldn’t keep from thinking about my last conversation with Pix, in shadowy St. Sequestrian’s. Something had changed then. Something between us. He’d been so…intense.
“Would you have done it to me? Tell me, Evaline.”
“Done what?”
“What ye did to Dancy.”
I’d hesitated, because it had been a question on my mind: if Pix had been turned UnDead, as Mr. Dancy had, would I have killed him?
I answered Pix truthfully: Yes.
And he’d thanked me. But I’ll never forget the way his dark eyes looked when he did so: bleak, and yet resolute.
And now he was gone.
I wasn’t certain if I should be angry or relieved or worried. So I tried to put him out of my mind.
And t
hen Florence came into the breakfast room and helped by ruining my day.
No, actually, she ruined my entire life.
I was enjoying a warm apple muffin-puff spread with cinnamon-honey butter when she sat down at the table with a gleam of purpose in her eyes—not unlike that of my colleague Mina Holmes.
But in this case, I knew the gleam portended nothing good for me. Especially when I saw how serious her face was. Dull. Almost sad.
“Evaline,” she said, folding her hands primly on the dining room table. “Bram and I had a long discussion last night. I have some things to tell you.”
“All right.” Her expression made me nervous. I could tell this was going to be unpleasant. I hoped she didn’t want me to go shopping with her for a new wardrobe for a round of Christmas balls and fêtes that I had no intention of attending.
She looked down, and her fingers tightened to white. Now I was really nervous.
“The Lyceum hasn’t been doing well. There’s talk that it could be closed. Attendance is down, and with the new laws that have just gone into effect regarding taxes on steam engine parts, and imports, and some of the changes Parliament has just passed…well, to be blunt: our financial situation has become dire.”
I stared at her. I wasn’t certain about all of that tax business and what the government was doing—it didn’t affect me; I was a vampire hunter—but those last words did hit me. “Dire?”
“Very dire.” Her mouth was white at the corners, it was so tight.
Now, suddenly, many things began to make sense to me. The whispered, hissing conversations I’d heard between Florence and my brother Bram. The extra amount of mail that had been piling up on the salver in the front hall—letters that Florence snatched up before I could see what they were. Bills, many of them unpaid?
“All right,” I said, unclear as to how this would affect me. “Well, I have no need for any new frocks, Flo. We don’t have to give any dinner parties over the holiday,” I added, trying not to sound relieved. “And I don’t mind missing—”
“Evaline,” she began in a hard, impersonal voice. “It’s…it’s more than that. We… Well, Bram has been spending so much extra time working on his novel that he’s neglected our finances. Even worse, some of his investments weren’t very smart, and with the change in laws and taxes and tariffs…well, things are dire. So dire, in fact, that by the first of the year, we will be faced with two choices: go back to Ireland and move in with your parents, or…” She hesitated, then rushed on. “Or you must marry.”
I stared at her.
“Soon,” she added, fixing me with a serious gaze. “Before the end of the year.”
“Marry?”
“It goes without saying he must be wealthy, Evaline.”
“Marry?”
“We only have another month before the bill collectors will take over and we’ll be forced to leave Grantworth House. And then we’ll have no choice but to return to Ireland.” Tears brimmed her eyes and the tip of her nose turned pink. “An engagement announcement by Christmas would keep them at bay.”
“Christmas?”
Christmas was only two weeks away.
It wasn’t only my breakfast that was ruined. It was my entire day. My week.
My life.
“I…” The words didn’t come. I felt hot and cold and lost, all at once. “How can this be?”
Lose Grantworth House? The home that had been part of the vampire-fighting Venators’ history for centuries? It couldn’t be. We couldn’t allow that. I couldn’t.
“Bram didn’t want to tell you,” Florence rushed on. “But I insisted. He’s at his wits’ end, trying to come up with a solution…but he’s run out of time. And money.” Her fingers turned whitish-blue as she clasped them even harder while one tear spilled from an eye. “The only way to save us is for you to marry. You’re the heiress to Grantworth House, and your husband would be able to help us. And, of course, a husband of the peerage wouldn’t suffer to have his wife’s family tossed on the street…it would be terrible for his reputation.
“Florence, I had no idea,” I said, trying to make sense of everything she was saying. “I didn’t realize… I-I…”
“You’re our only hope, Evaline. If you don’t find a wealthy man to marry within the next month, we’re going to be out on the street—or moving back to Dublin.” She rose from the table, pressing a handkerchief to her face, and rushed from the dining room.
I stared after her, suddenly feeling violently ill. The muffin-puff no longer appealed, and the rasher of bacon looked disgusting, sitting in its grease.
Marry?
I couldn’t marry.
I didn’t want to marry—anyone. I couldn’t marry. Ever.
But Florence and Bram had been so good to me. They’d raised me, along with their young son Noel, when my elderly parents couldn’t—as if I were their own daughter. I loved Bram and Florence and Noel, so very much, and I had always felt so secure knowing we had a roof over our heads, and food on the table.
I couldn’t let them down. I had to pay them back for everything they’d done for me. They were family.
And Grantworth House…I looked around the dining room, the familiar room of yellow painted walls with white wainscoting, where my great-grandmother, the legendary Victoria Gardella, had sat and eaten at this very table. It was part of my heritage. Part of my history.
I couldn’t…
But I couldn’t get married, either.
Whoever heard of a vampire hunter getting married?
I was still numb thirty minutes later, wandering listlessly around the kalari—the room where I honed my vampire-hunting skills, but where Florence believed I was practicing dancing—when I heard the unmistakable sound of Mina Holmes’s footsteps approaching. She always walked quickly and with purpose, and even in a crowded room I could tell when she was coming across the way.
I gave a disgusted sigh. The last thing, the very last thing I wanted, was to be around Miss Know-It-All and Miss Lecture-Till-My-Ears-Turn-Numb today. Especially since Miss Adler hadn’t summoned us to the British Museum since the big disappointment with the chess queen, and so I hadn’t had reason to see my so-called partner.
But Brentwood, the butler (how much longer until we couldn’t afford to pay him? Would he be on the streets soon too? And what about my maid Pepper? My throat seized up) had learned to allow Mina entrance without announcing her whenever she arrived. Whether it was because he didn’t want to argue with her, or whether he’d just learned over the course of the nine months I’d known her, I wasn’t sure.
“Evaline! I’m so relieved I found you at home,” she said, breezing into the room. “The most astonishing thing happened last night, and— Oh dear.” She stopped, looking at me closely. “Whatever is wrong?”
I drew myself up. “Nothing.”
She narrowed her eyes. I felt the weight of the infamous Holmes observation skills as she looked me over. I looked back. She might be related to the most famous detective ever, but even Mina couldn’t tell what was on my mind by looking at the frock I was wearing today.
“Are you certain there’s nothing bothering you? You appear to—”
“Yes. What are you doing here?” I changed the subject, and I didn’t care if I sounded rude.
Fortunately, Mina was not one to beat around the bush, especially when she had a purpose in mind. “During your—er—nightly adventures, have you ever heard of The Carnelian Crow?”
“No.” I felt a prickle of interest and seized on it. That was better than thinking about getting married. “What is it?”
“That is precisely what I’m attempting to discover.” She looked uncertain for a moment. “But I haven’t yet determined how to do so. I was hoping you’d heard of it.” She hesitated, then pursed her lips as if she’d just tasted a lemon. “Much as I hate the thought, I shall have to resort to asking that Mr. Pix person of yours.”
Good luck with that. The pang of worry was back. But then I realized… “S
ince you’re a Holmes, you should be able to help. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that right away.”
“Help with what?”
“Pix has gone missing. So if you want to ask him about The Carnelian Crow—what is carnelian, anyway?—we’re going to have to find him.”
She pursed her lips again. I could tell she was ready to launch into a lecture about what a reprobate he was, and demanding to know why I continued to involve myself with such a disreputable criminal. Either that or she was going to give me far more information than I needed about carnelian. Whatever it was. A gemstone, maybe? Regardless, I was already regretting speaking out.
“You’re certain he’s actually missing?” she asked.
“I haven’t seen him for at least two months. And Bilbo hasn’t seen him either. He seems to have disappeared right after the chess queen incident.”
“I suppose Bilbo is one of his equally disreputable associates.”
“He’s the barkeep at Fenman’s End.”
“The place in Whitechapel where you’re always getting into brawls and winning at arm-wrestling?”
I suddenly had a great idea. “I’ll take you there tonight. You can begin your investigation then.”
“Investigation?” She seemed about to argue, then stopped. “I suppose I have no choice if I want to find out about The Carnelian Crow. If anyone would know what it is and how to find it, that dratted man will. It seems every time we get involved in a case, he’s in the thick of it.” She paused, then barreled on. “I suppose if I’m going to visit Whitechapel tonight I should find something suitable to wear. Perhaps a visit to Lady Thistle’s is in order.”
“Yes,” I nearly exclaimed. Anything to get out and away from the dull worry that hovered over the household. Besides, I’d never been to Mina’s favorite clothing boutique, and I was curious about it. “I’ll get my coat.”
“Don’t forget money for the street-lifts!” she called after me.
But I ignored her. The Stokers were, after all, on a tight budget.
The Carnelian Crow: A Stoker & Holmes Book (Stoker and Holmes 4) Page 3