No.
My heart hammered again. Well, he was handsome, but that wasn’t the matter at hand. Will was . . . Will. He was only the stable hand. I needed his help. We were clearly from different worlds. I could write in three languages, and he couldn’t . . .
I didn’t allow myself to finish that thought. I wasn’t here to play the part of some sentimental trollop over a boy with a handsome face. Or strong body, or—
“I see.” Her eyes crinkled in the corners in an aloof and knowing way that irritated me. See what? There was nothing to see. She turned again and continued up the stair as if she hadn’t just fired a volley of cannons across my bow.
At the top of the stair she opened the first door to the right. A snug but neat little room with a small, cheery bed and a stand with a washbasin greeted me. A high window overlooked the roof of the mews. A flock of pigeons roosted there, cooing in the morning light.
“Get some rest. We have much to discuss when you wake.”
I was exhausted to the bone, and the feather mattress felt like lying on a cloud, yet I didn’t fall to sleep. My skin felt tight, warm and tingling, and I couldn’t stop thinking about Will.
It shocked me when I woke, because I hadn’t realized I had slept. I just jolted out of blackness, disoriented and frightened. It took me a moment to remember where I was.
The house was dark, yet my eyes adjusted in the slant of moonlight shining through the window. Sharp pangs of hunger bit at me.
Easing out of the bed, I crept with soft steps toward the stairwell. I didn’t want to wake the widow should she be sleeping.
As I reached the stair, a faint melody whispered through the sleeping house. Curious, I kept my hand to the wall and followed the sound. A light flickered on the other side of one of the doors. It was open only a crack, but it was enough for me to peer through.
The widow rocked in a creaking chair in the corner. Her strawberry-gold curls tumbled free down her back, but a heavy black shawl hung over her shoulders, covering her soft blue dressing gown. She sang a sweet lullaby and in the crook of her arm rested the smooth head of a baby.
She had a child? I brought my hand to my mouth as I watched her. She rocked it, cradling it with such love, it nearly broke my heart. Eventually she stilled, sighed, and lifted the infant.
That’s when I noticed the stiff arms, the unmoving head. The utter silence. It was only a doll dressed in the most lovely white gown. She stood and placed it in a bassinet.
Her breath hitched as she looked at it. Her ivory hands drifted over her flat stomach in a circling pattern, as if soothing a deep hurt there.
I retreated a step, turning my back so I could lean against the wall. I couldn’t quite make sense of what I’d just seen. I only knew it was something I shouldn’t have witnessed. The deep sadness of it reached into my heart and wouldn’t let go.
Racking sobs broke the silence as the widow grieved, the sound so aching and raw, it forced tears from my eyes. I felt my own grief so close, I had to grip my grandfather’s key.
I retreated to my room, softly closing the door behind me, but I didn’t sleep again that night.
The next morning, the widow looked as calm and collected as she had the day before. Elegant in her stark black, she had removed her veil, but the contrast of her dark attire with her bright hair and eyes only made her look more striking.
I felt like a dowdy sparrow next to a peacock in my own faded mourning dress and simple braids. Will came into the parlor and haunted the door.
The widow raised her cup to him. “I’d like to thank you for tending to Daisy this morning. She’s very dear to me.”
“ ’Twas my pleasure.” He looked her in the eye and gave her a hint of a bow. She didn’t break his gaze for a long time.
It made me uncomfortable. I did my best to convince myself it wasn’t the stirrings of jealousy.
“I read the book last night,” the widow began. “I assume you have as well, or you wouldn’t be here.”
“I read parts, Mrs. Pricket,” I confessed.
“So you realize your grandfather faked his death.” She turned to me as if she were announcing tea was served in the parlor.
I felt as if a mule had kicked me in the middle.
“How do you know he’s alive?” Will asked.
“Simple.” She reached into her pocket and produced a key, a simple device a bit like a corkscrew with the three silver triangles at the end. It looked nothing like mine. “Every Amusementist has a key such as this. Each one is individual and allows a person to lock their inventions to prevent tampering. When I had Simon’s name engraved, I discovered the medallion hidden behind the brass plate,” Lucinda admitted.
So, that was the reason she hadn’t seemed surprised at the idea of a hidden compartment within the gravestone. She continued, “I tried to open the compartment. Simon’s key didn’t work. Which means Simon did not set that lock.”
Her gaze dropped to the pendant hanging around my neck. “Your grandfather invented the locking system for all the Amusementists. Many believed he had a key that could open any of his locks. If a master key does indeed exist, only Henry could have set the lock in Simon’s gravestone, which means he was alive after Simon’s death.”
I dropped my gaze, feeling a bit like a criminal standing before a barrister. It was time to confess. “Lord Rathford took me in after the fire. I recently found a letter among the baron’s things. It was from my grandfather, dated after his death. I believe he’s alive, Mrs. Pricket.”
I took a sip of tea, but it tasted bitter. I didn’t think another lump would make it any better.
“Lucinda, please. What did the letter say?”
“That my grandfather was going into hiding, and if anyone came searching for him, he’d know Rathford was the one who gave him away. He tried to convince Rathford to see reason before it was too late.” I hoped my instincts were right about the widow. I didn’t wish to put Papa in further jeopardy.
“Let me show you something.” Lucinda rose with the grace of a born duchess and walked to the corner. She picked up a small frame and held it toward me.
I brought my hand to my chest. “It’s Papa!” Reaching out, I took the picture to peer at it more closely. It was small, but clear. “He looks so young.”
He was bending on one knee, smiling as he held a small box in his palm, above it a toy top floated in the air with nothing at all to support it. A lovely little girl with pale curls and a young boy with a missing tooth and shaggy hair clung to him with looks of delight on their faces. I knew that feeling. My grandfather had a way of making the ordinary magical.
“Is this you?” I asked, wonder filling my heart. The girl in the picture looked at my grandfather in the exact way I had looked at him as a child.
“Yes, it was my sixth birthday,” she admitted. “You were a newborn. Your mother let me hold you that afternoon. She was a generous and kind woman. I missed her greatly when she decided to eschew our social circles. I’m sorry for your loss. Your father was a good man too. I saw him and your grandfather from time to time at gatherings. I was very fond of Henry. All the children were.”
Will edged closer to look at the picture. It was a moment in time, captured. I wondered how it was made. It was unlike any sort of tintype I’d ever seen. “Is that your husband?” Will asked.
Lucinda sighed. “No.” She bit her lip and her eyes darted for a second as if searching for what to say. “He was a friend.”
“Why didn’t my parents want me to know about the Amusementists?” I asked, clearing my throat.
Lucinda pinched her lips. “It’s complicated. The Order is a culture unto itself, and has a way of consuming people.”
“How do you mean?” Will spoke up.
“We don’t follow the normal conventions. Take the names for example.” Lucinda took a sip of tea. “There are certain rules of the Order. The first rule is that a man’s worth is determined by the limits of his mind. Using Christian names instead of titles
forces all the Amusementists onto equal intellectual footing. After all, inheriting land hardly makes a man a genius.” Lucinda gave an inelegant snort.
“Always?” It was hard to imagine higher-ranking men like the baron would let go of formality.
“Usually. It forces men to rely on their wit and creativity to earn respect within the Order instead of the power of their family name, though certain members are more insistent on playing with a level field than others. And certain family names hold great prestige within the Order, though that has nothing to do with the gentry.” Lucinda offered me a crumpet and I took it gladly.
“Take Rathford for example,” she continued. “He rarely let anyone use his given name, probably because he didn’t favor it much, but even he wouldn’t dare insist someone within the Order address him as Lord. And for as powerful as some men are in political circles, the name Whitlock carries enormous weight within the Society. Reichlin did as well. I believe your mother didn’t want to subject you to the pressures the Amusementists would have put upon you, Meg. In certain respects, I can’t blame her. The unspoken rules for the Society of women associated with the Order are—restrictive.”
“Are you an Amusementist?” Will’s question surprised me and I almost choked on the crumbling pastry in my mouth.
“No woman has ever been nominated to become one. We are only part of the Society through our association with the men. You could say I have been part of the Society since birth.” A hint of a wistful smile touched her lips. “Simon always claimed that was a shame. He once told me I was a more creative inventor than he was. He was lying of course.”
“Tell me about the competitions.” It was likely I would never know my parents’ full motives for keeping the Amusementists from me, but I needed to know more. I was curious about the drawings in Simon’s book.
Lucinda looked distant, as if remembering a fond holiday from long ago. “One person would issue a challenge to another, usually something whimsical, like make a clockwork rabbit. Then the men would try to make it. Over the years the clockwork rabbit turned into automaton fox hunts, and eventually the machines reached ridiculous levels of complexity and wonder. No one man could make them. All those interested in participating in the Amusements proposed at a Gathering of the Order would break apart into teams, each team contributing with the best of their talents and resources.”
Will fully stepped into the room and took a crumpet, then retreated a pace, still unwilling to sit. “To what purpose?”
Lucinda sighed. “Fun, a challenge . . . to see if they could do it. Perhaps there was some pressure to impress the women of the Society. Occasionally a wager or two might have been placed.”
She took a sip of tea, then stared at the liquid in her cup. “The men formed very deep bonds when working together on an Amusement. The craftsmen enjoyed the exclusive patronage of the nobility, and the nobility enjoyed thoroughly unique curiosities and profitable business arrangements with the craftsmen. Sons and daughters of Amusementists tend to marry within the Order. This is why the murders are so troubling. Whoever did this, he has killed his own brothers.”
I didn’t know what to say. The thought troubled me to no end. Lucinda placed her hand over mine. “If your grandfather found a way to stay hidden, it’s because he had to. These men know him too well.” She shook her head, a sad and unconscious gesture. “None of us knows whom to trust. There hasn’t been a Gathering of the Amusementists since the murders. No one is willing to risk it. It won’t be safe for Henry to return until the murderer is brought to justice.”
The confirmation of my greatest fear sat heavy in my heart. I didn’t know what the next step was. I only knew I had to unravel this mystery. It was the only chance of finding my grandfather alive, or returning to any semblance of my life.
“My grandfather and your husband believed Lord Rathford invented something dangerous.” I placed my tea on the table. “Do you know what it was?”
“No,” Lucinda admitted. “I knew nothing. I didn’t even know Simon was working on Rathford’s machine.”
“In the back of the book, hidden in the blank pages, there’s a message written near the binding. It says to begin with the raven. Does that mean anything to you?” I asked.
“The raven?” Lucinda visibly paled, then rose and hurried from the room.
She returned holding a large clockwork raven. Dark brass and copper gears swirled in the bird’s breast, just beneath smooth dark wings. Two wheels instead of feet had been set on short brass legs. The body looked real, with real feathers, and the eyes were clear black beads. The brass beak had been so carefully crafted, the stately bird seemed as if it could come alive and steal the crumpet off my plate.
In the center of its chest was the flower medallion.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“HAVE YOU TRIED TO WIND IT?” I SMOOTHED MY fingertips over the fine feathers on the back of the bird’s wing. The craftsmanship was amazing. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought the bird hatched with brass and gears in its body.
“It can’t be wound,” Lucinda said, folding her hands in her lap. A look of resigned longing came over her face. “Simon’s key won’t work.”
“What does it do?” Will asked.
“I don’t know.” Lucinda ran her hand over the raven’s head. A hint of a smile played at her lips. It reminded me of the way my mother would smile at my father when he burned the candles to stubs to keep fiddling with his gears for “just another moment.”
“I’d love to see it work,” the widow said and the hint of life and love that had come into her eyes died away again.
I lifted the raven into my lap. I was expecting it to be heavy, but it hardly weighed as much as a real bird. That alone was an astonishing feat.
Excitement rushed to my fingertips as I lifted the key from around my neck. I could bring the bird to life. I knew what to do.
I caught Lucinda’s eye as I cracked the key open. Her brow knit together as her gaze dropped down to the circle of silver in my palm. I slowly opened the key, letting the flower unfold its elegant petals. Lucinda’s eyes widened, and she brought her hand to her lips. “How extraordinary,” she whispered.
She had yet to see what was to come. I slid the medallion to the side and fitted the key into the raven’s chest, then bit my lip as I pressed the button. The notes of Papa’s song rang out.
Lucinda gasped. “What is that strange music?”
“Your key doesn’t play the tune?” I asked.
“No. Mine is a simple key, this is remarkable.” Lucinda leaned closer.
If none of the other keys played a song, then my key was truly the master. My grandfather had given me a wonderful gift, the gift of a memory, a song, one that had the power to unlock the impossible.
The song halted, but no door opened to reveal the keys I had to play. Where were they?
I tipped the bird over, looking for the hatch, but found none. A rush of panic seized me.
What if I couldn’t get it to work? Where could the keys be hidden? As I turned the bird back over, my hand brushed the tail. I heard a soft dink.
Puzzled, I looked to Will. He nodded at me as if he knew what I should be thinking.
Of course, the tail!
The bird had twelve feathers, five short, seven long, in the pattern of a perfect octave.
I placed the bird on the table and stroked the tail feathers; each one rang with a tone that sounded like a spring being released. When I hit the final note, the bird blinked its eyes and let out a metallic caw. Pinwheels unfolded from the front edge of each of its wings as it spread them and lowered its head. A crank emerged from its back as it blinked again and trembled almost as if in anticipation.
“It looks as if it’s about to fly.” Lucinda’s voice was filled with wonder. “How did he do it in something so small?”
“Let’s take it outside and see where it goes,” I suggested, lifting the bird by the chest, careful of the outstretched wings. I couldn’t wait to see
it soar.
“Have you lost your mind completely?” Will pushed on the back of my chair. I turned around.
“This bird could lead us to the next clue.” I didn’t know what the bird was made for, but with each new step I unlocked, my path seemed to become clearer. If the bird was going to fly, I wanted to see where it led.
“It could lead us into a trap.” Will paced away from me, returning to the doorway. “Have you forgotten there’s a murderer out there? One that clearly wants you dead?”
“Will . . . ,” I protested. “We have to know.” I stood and looked Lucinda in the eye. “If we don’t unravel this mystery, I will have to live the rest of my days waiting for that man to kill me. This is the only way to discover his identity and bring him to justice. It’s up to us.”
Lucinda pressed her lovely lips together in an expression of pure iron. “I’ll join you.”
“No,” Will cut in. “This is madness. You’ll get killed.”
Lucinda turned to him. “I’m already dead. I have nothing left to lose.”
I took her hand. “Neither do I. I want to see this fly, and I’m going to follow it.”
Will let out an exasperated breath and rubbed his hands over his hair, then interlocked his fingers behind his neck. Lucinda squeezed my hand tighter. In that moment, I knew we were of one mind.
“Fine. I’ll hitch the horse. You can’t chase a bloody bird on foot.” Will snatched his cap out of his pocket and fit it on his head with a rough jerk.
My heart felt like it was growing in my chest. “Thank you . . .”
“Don’t,” he snapped. “Don’t thank me. You should’ve thanked me if I’d talked you out of it.” His accent thickened as he turned his back on us and stormed out the door.
“He can’t help himself, can he?” Lucinda tilted her head in bemused consideration.
“Can’t help being rude?” I had only wanted to thank him. If he didn’t want to be a part of this, he could return to the baron at any time. He didn’t have cause to lash out at us.
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