The Carnelian Crow: A Stoker & Holmes Book (Stoker and Holmes 4)

by Colleen Gleason

  Despite my burning curiosity, I had no intention of attempting to locate and infiltrate The Carnelian Crow on my own. As I have pointed out numerous times, I am not the impetuous sort.

  Nor am I like those foolish young women in the gothic-horror novels by the likes of Mrs. Radcliffe or Wilkie Collins—the females who investigate a dangerous noise in the dead of night on their own in their night frocks. (Evaline was the only woman I knew who could make a case for investigating danger on her own, and she would never do it clad only in a night frock. At least, I don’t believe she would.)

  The first time I read—or, rather, attempted to read—one of those stories, I’d thrown the tome against the wall. For fiction reading, I remain content with Frankenstein and stories by Mr. Poe, Mr. Verne, and Mr. Twain. Though many of those tales are far-fetched, at least they don’t feature imbecilic characters that do little to exemplify the intelligence and resourcefulness of my gender.

  I will admit, however, that it was in part due to the raw intensity and concern that had blazed in Inspector Grayling’s eyes that stayed my hand in regards to The Carnelian Crow. It was clear this mysterious establishment must be taken very seriously, and breached with all caution. For obvious reasons, I would have been far more confident had Evaline been with me—she’d proven herself valuable a majority of the time.

  However, I did decide to pay another visit to Lady Thistle’s. I would poke around that back closet a little more (under the guise of trying on a new split petticoat) and see what else I could find.

  It was briskly cold and the air was damper than usual—as if it were attempting to snow, but Mother Nature couldn’t quite form the flakes, so the precipitation merely hung there in a cold, gray glaze. There were few pedestrians about, which meant I had the street-lift to myself and my voluminous skirts.

  As before, I rode up three levels and disembarked near the popping tea cart. An aromatic drink to warm my hands and insides appealed, and I was considering which flavor to sample this time when I heard a familiar bark. This was followed by a quiet metallic clicking and the clop of approaching footsteps on the fly-way bridge.

  I couldn’t control a rush of something—pleasure, surprise, perhaps even bashfulness—when I turned to see Inspector Grayling being towed along by the incorrigible beagle Angus.

  Apparently, the beast, who was leashed, had scented or otherwise sighted me, for he was clearly making a beeline as fast as his mechanical leg—and master—would allow. Though as a rule I find animals best left to their own devices and certainly not beneath my hands—or skirts, as Angus was wont to be—I couldn’t resist him.

  I crouched (with difficulty, due to the blasted corset) and greeted him with a pat to the head. His long ears flopped over my gloved hand and he sniffed excitedly at the white puff of my breath in the cold. He even attempted to slurp at my face, and I confess I allowed him to get close enough that I felt the barest whisk of tongue across my chin.

  “No, sir, I’m quite sorry, I’m fresh out of Stuff’n-Muffins today,” I told him when he redirected his damp nose to sniffing around the ruffles of my hem and along every inch of my shoes. He then moved on to my reticule, but by that time, my lower appendages were protesting and I realized I was going to need assistance returning an upright position. Drat.

  “Good day, Inspector Grayling.” I glanced up at him, then over to determine whether the lamppost was close enough to use as a prop to pull myself up. Dratted corset and skirts and petticoats!

  “What an unexpected but delightful pleasure, Miss Holmes.” He sounded like he meant it, and suddenly a large hand (apparently he did own gloves) appeared in my line of vision. “If you’ve finished greeting the obnoxious beastie, may I help you?”

  “Thank you,” I said, feeling a little breathless when he pulled me up easily, with no effort on my part. It was such a smooth, powerful movement that I nearly bumped into his chest from the momentum.

  “Popping tea?” he said, turning to look at the cart. I noticed the cold had made his cheeks ruddy.

  “It’s quite delicious. I tried the jasmine flavor yesterday, but I thought I would sample a different one today. I was attempting to make a decision when I heard Angus’s greeting.” I looked down as I realized the creature had flopped on the ground next to me and was gnawing on the button of my thick-soled, fur-lined shoe.

  “Angus!” Grayling exclaimed, yanking—but not too hard—on the leash. “Behave yourself, or there’ll be no ham bones for a month. You’ll be stuck with gruel, and you know how inedible Mrs. MacPherson’s gruel is. And I won’t feel the least bit sorry for you about it.”

  I heard someone giggle (surely it wasn’t I) and turned my attention to the tea cart. I decided upon the cardamom-vanilla flavor, but before I could open my reticule, Grayling elbowed me aside.

  “Allow me, Miss Holmes,” he said, then commenced with ordering his own popping tea (honeyed chocolate) and paying for both.

  “Why thank you,” I said, burying my heated cheeks in the warmth and aroma of the beverage. The exotic scent of cardamom filled my nostrils as the little fizzes popped with alacrity. “That was unexpected and very kind.”

  “It was my pleasure, Miss Holmes. I’ve been— Blast it, Angus, no!” His voice rose in horror as the beast lifted his leg to urinate on the lamppost.

  I turned away, hiding a smile, and leaned against the same railing upon which Evaline and I had done yesterday—and where, coincidentally, the topic of our conversation had been none other than Grayling himself.

  “What brings you to this part of town?” asked the man now, resting his elbow on the rail next to me. “Especially on such an unpleasant day.”

  He was one of the few individuals who towered over me, and I found myself having to twist a bit to look up at him. His excessive height used to annoy me, but I was becoming accustomed to it.

  “A clothing boutique I frequent is located off Meckler’s Alley. Lady Thistle’s.”

  “I’ve not heard of that establishment,” he replied, sniffing audibly at his beverage. “Quite interesting,” he muttered, sticking his nose into the cup. His eyelashes, a slightly darker shade than his gingery hair, brushed against the edge of the vessel. I’d never noticed a gentleman with such long, curling lashes before.

  “I shouldn’t think you would have heard of it,” I replied lightly. “After all, it’s for ladies’ clothing. What need would you have to frequent a shop for young ladies’ clothing?” Then I realized what I had said, and the assumptions therein, and I immediately began to stammer. “I mean to say, as far as I know, you don’t have a—a need to shop with a lady, or for—”

  “No,” he said, looking steadily across the fly-bridge to the other side of the street, “I have—at the moment—no reason to shop for or with a lady, Miss Holmes.” Then he turned suddenly to me. “Although I am hopeful that might change.”

  I found myself unable to swallow. And all at once, my heart was galloping off in a very queer manner. My knees felt a trifle unsteady. “Right then,” I muttered, and took a large drink from my tea.

  Too large of a drink, in fact, which resulted in my needing to battle back a choking cough, because it went down too large and too fast. My cheeks were flaming by the time I got myself under control.

  Fortunately, Angus had wrapped himself and his leash around an air-cart mooring, and Grayling had discovered this just as I brought the cup to my lips. If he noticed my actions, he gave no indication.

  “Perhaps we should walk a bit,” Grayling said, offering me his arm. “At least that might keep Angus from causing further disruptions. Did you say Meckler’s Alley?”

  I found it unexpectedly pleasant to be strolling along the walkway with the inspector and his four-legged companion as we sipped our respective beverages.

  I became accustomed to the feel of his leg brushing against my skirt, and I discovered I rather enjoyed the slight movement of the muscles in his arm beneath my hand. His proximity made one side of me quite warm despite the wintry day. I
n fact, the chill in the air no longer seemed unpleasant, and to my surprise, the two of us conversed readily on a number of topics.

  I happened to mention a new exhibition at the British Museum, expressing my interest in seeing the display of woodcut ukiyo-e prints from Japan, and Grayling verbalized a similar desire.

  “Perhaps we could—er—coordinate the day so we are there at the same time,” he suggested.

  “That would be quite enjoyable,” I said without thinking. “I can’t imagine Miss Stoker would be interested in my position on kabuki theater—which is one of the popular subjects of those types of print, and has many parallels to our own Shakespearean theater. She would likely shush me if I attempted to educate her. Miss Adler might be able to give us a guided tour, however.”

  “Miss Adler? But…she is no longer employed by the museum.”

  I halted abruptly. “What did you say?”

  “I assumed you were aware. Miss Adler is gone. She is no longer at the British Museum.”

  “How do you know this? Why? Where did she go?” My thoughts were a jumble, and tucked deep inside them was a glimmer of hope. Perhaps that was why I hadn’t heard from my mentor. I began to walk again, with, I confess, a bit of a spring in my step.

  “I believe it’s been more than a month that she’s been gone,” he replied. “But I only discovered this information a few days ago, when I called on her there.”

  “You called on Miss Adler at the museum? Were you working on a case?”

  “Er…no, I was not. I—er— Well, blast it, Miss Holmes, I am usually tripping all over you during any given investigation of mine. And when I hadn’t—er—encountered you—or Miss Stoker or Miss Adler, for that matter, I…well, I thought perhaps something might have…happened.” The wintry chill had turned his cheeks dark red.

  “How astonishing,” I murmured, still engaged by the tantalizing thought that Miss Adler’s silence had not been due to her disappointment in me. Then I realized what he’d said. “You thought something might have happened? Such as?”

  “Well, it does seem that every time there is a dead body, there you are,” Grayling said rather forcefully. “What was I to think? You were, after all, consorting with that Eckhert bloke. If something had happened, I— Well, I was concerned.”

  “I see.” I wasn’t certain what to make of his speech, but I couldn’t deny there was a sort of bubbling warmth blossoming in the center of my person. Perhaps it was the way he said that Eckhert bloke.

  “But apparently he has gone away as well,” Grayling said after a moment of silent walking through the slush.

  “Mr. Eckhert? Yes, he’s gone—gone home.”

  Grayling glanced at me now, for the first time since we’d gone off on this strange tangent. I felt the muscles in his arm tighten beneath my hand. “Does that— Well, Miss Holmes, are you quite—quite despondent about that?”

  “Despondent? Certainly not. Of course, I wish he hadn’t gone, and I do miss him—strange as it may seem to you, he was a friend—but it was for the best. I knew it and so did he, and Miss Adler agreed. I could have gone with him—but, of course, that wouldn’t have done.”

  His arm relaxed a trifle. “I see. You—er—could have gone with him?”

  “Traveling to—as far as he was going, to a place I didn’t belong, would not have been the best choice, as interesting as I might have found it. Despite all its faults, my world is here, in 1889 London.”

  “1889 London?” he repeated thoughtfully. “Quite. Well, one cannot argue that, at least.”

  He lapsed into silence, and I wasn’t inclined to break it. He’d given me several things to think about, including the sobering reminder that the last time Miss Adler had disappeared without a word, she’d been in a particularly tenuous position at the hands of some bloodthirsty—literally—UnDead.

  I now had a real missing person to investigate (as, clearly, Mr. Pix’s disappearance was intentional and not of a sinister nature), as well as The Carnelian Crow. I couldn’t help but feel a thrill over the fact that my life seemed to have returned to its previous busyness.

  As we approached Lady Thistle’s, Grayling spoke again, bringing up the subject that I was certain had been lurking in the back of his mind since we began walking. I was surprised he’d waited this long.

  “And so what have you learned about The Carnelian Crow since yesterday?” he asked. He pitched his voice low as a precaution, but as we had just turned down the side alley from Meckler’s, no one was in the vicinity. “I’m as certain as the sun will rise tomorrow that you’ve been busy investigating—despite my warning to the contrary.”

  “I’ll have you know, Inspector Grayling, that I’ve taken your warning exceedingly seriously.”

  “Indeed? That’s quite remarkable.” A little smile flickered in his face. “But certainly you’ve been busy. And I’m just as confident you’ve learned something of note.”

  “As a matter of fact, I have. But, quite extraordinarily, it was completely by accident.”

  Grayling stopped and looked down at me with an expression that was a mixture of exasperation and disbelief. “I find that impossible to believe.”

  “Believe it, sir. Incidentally, I discovered something very interesting when I visited Lady Thistle’s yesterday.”

  We’d reached the tiny ladies’ boutique, and I indicated the door framed in sage green and its thistle symbol on the glass.

  “This place?” He peered through the door’s window. “It appears deserted.”

  “It’s meant to, so as to not attract too much of a clientele, I suppose.”

  “Too much of a clientele? What sort of boutique doesn’t want to attract new customers?”

  That was a fair question, and one that I hadn’t contemplated until now—perhaps because it had always been that way, since my mother used to bring me here. “Would you like to discuss the tenets of good and bad business practices, or would you like me to tell you what I discovered, Inspector Grayling?”

  “Och, well… Though the topic of business practices might be fascinating to the likes of Emmett Oligary, I believe I should limit my purview to criminal activity. What did you learn, Miss Holmes?”

  I hid a smile, taken off guard by his little jest, then went on to tell him about the hidden door inside the closet in the back room of Lady Thistle’s.

  Grayling was both impressed and mystified, and expressed those opinions. “Due to the marking on the closet door, one would make the logical assumption that the hidden door somehow provides access to The Carnelian Crow,” he said, stepping back from the shop’s entrance in order to study the buildings surrounding it.

  “I have confirmed your understanding that there are different ways to access the establishment, depending on who the individual is attempting to do so,” I said, also looking at the architecture of the adjoining shops.

  “Indeed. And where did you come by that particular bit of information?” Grayling looked at me sharply.

  I hesitated, then explained (although I did not mention our visitation of Pix’s lair, nor the acquisition of a second carnelian crow pendant). After all, Grayling had been involved with the rescue of Mr. Pix from the clutches of the Ankh, so the individual was not unknown to him.

  “This Pix character,” said my companion, appearing none too pleased at the information. “He seems to be possessed of quite a bit of information of the criminal sort. Perhaps I should speak with him myself. Where might I find the bloke?”

  I shrugged, then prevaricated. “I have no idea, Inspector Grayling. He comes and goes as he pleases.”

  He muttered something unintelligible, then returned to his perusal of the building. “If, as you suspect, the hidden door in the closet leads to an entrance to The Carnelian Crow, one must consider where precisely that establishment is located. Are one or more of the neighboring businesses merely a front for the Crow? There is an antiquarian bookshop here—hmm, I might be persuaded to look inside in short order—and Lenning’s Tannery next to i
t. And on the other side, Madame Facing’s Lace Shop…” He continued to himself. “We’re on the third street level, so at the rear of the buildings, where the hidden door would have led, there’s no alley or mews access…only space.”

  Angus gave a sharp yip, drawing the attention of both of us. Apparently, we’d been standing in one place for too long.

  “I shall venture inside as planned, Inspector. I’ll check the closet and perhaps even look through the hidden door to see whether your estimate is correct—I won’t go any further,” I added hastily, as I could see him gearing up to launch into a lecture. “You have my word.”

  He didn’t appear the least bit mollified by my promise. “Perhaps it would be best if I accompanied you inside, Miss Holmes. I can tie Angus at this lamppost for a moment.” He dug in one of the voluminous pockets of his overcoat. “I usually save this for riding on the Underground, but it will do to keep him busy for a few moments.” He produced a package wrapped in butcher paper.

  Angus immediately plopped down on his behind and fixated his eyes on the packet. His mouth was clamped closed and his nose quivered. I do believe a parade with booming drums and tooting horns could have floated by and the beast wouldn’t have noticed.

  “Och, then. There’s a good boy.” Grayling unwrapped the object and produced a small ham bone, which he offered to Angus. The beagle took it with an enthusiastic swipe of teeth and settled himself down to gnaw on it.

  “Right, then. Shall we, Miss Holmes?”

  Startled from my affectionate regard of the adorable canine, I looked up to find a similar expression in Grayling’s eyes. This disconcerted me, and I stumbled over my feet as I turned to the door. “Yes, of course.”

  But when I reached for the door latch of Lady Thistle’s, I made an unpleasant discovery.

  The door was locked. I pulled harder, jiggling it in its frame, then looked through the window.

  Grayling had been more correct than he realized: the place was closed and deserted.