Legacy of the Clockwork Key

by Kristin Bailey

  Lucinda gasped. “My word.”

  I leaned forward on my palms. The chain clung to the plate as if by magic.

  No, not magic, magnets!

  Oliver placed the key in that spot and it snapped into a quick half turn, the magnets pulling it into perfect alignment in the blink of an eye. The longest arrow pointed toward me. The lamplight caught in Oliver’s spectacles as his eyes met mine. “That must be north.”

  We all jostled to the side of the table so we could see the map from the right angle. Suddenly the lines made more sense.

  “If this is a map of England, the shape is all wrong.” Will leaned so close to the map his breath fogged a bit of it. He rubbed it clear then tapped part of the etching. “What is this gash?”

  “It must be a bay for a river.” Lucinda traced her finger over the curved line emanating from the lower right-hand plate. “The Trent looks a bit like that.”

  The lines pulled together into a picture I could understand. The land just to the north of the River Trent. “It’s Yorkshire.”

  “Of course,” Oliver exclaimed. “These straight lines must be the railways.” He pushed his finger over them, almost as if it were a locomotive, stopping at each junction. “But if that’s true, Leeds should be here. Yet there’s no flower mark.”

  “Perhaps the flowers don’t mark cities.” Will furrowed his brow. “Most seem to be off the roads, but near rivers.”

  “Then what should they mark?” Oliver ran a hand over his head. “Bridges?”

  “Castles,” I breathed. “They mark the castles. Look, here would be Bolton and here Skipton. This one is probably Conisbrough. They must have hidden the machine in the ruins of some old castle.”

  Lucinda clapped her hands together as if she couldn’t contain them, and I caught her excitement. I would have jumped if the bench had let me. Lucinda leaned over the map and inspected the flowers. “But which one is it?”

  If the key showed us north, maybe it could reveal this as well. I flipped the key over, rubbing my thumb over the swirling lines and the Amusementists’ symbol carefully etched on the small button in the center. The lines didn’t seem to mimic any of the parts of the map. Just in case, I touched the key to each of the flower marks, turning it, trying to make it fit.

  Nothing.

  “The right mark could be on one of the last two plates.” I slipped the key back around my neck. We’d never find the machine without the rest of the map.

  Why did it have to be Yorkshire? Searching for a castle in Yorkshire was like trying to find a sheep in Scotland.

  “It looks as if we will have to head out to poor Edgar’s.” Lucinda shook her head.

  “Poor Edgar?” Oliver’s eyebrow rose. “He’s dead. I’m a bit more concerned for us. We’re going to need luck and wits if we don’t wish to join him.” Oliver stood and placed one hand on Will’s shoulder and one on mine, as if he hadn’t just warned us of our impending doom. “Best get some sleep. We need to be sharp in the morning when we head for Pellingbrook.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  I FLOPPED INTO MY BED AND STARED AT THE CEILING, trying to sort out my thoughts. While my mind was reeling over what we’d discovered, Oliver’s warning struck home. Whatever the Amusement at Pellingbrook was, it would be dangerous. Added to that, we had a murderer on our tail.

  These Amusements were going to be the end of me.

  As it stood I couldn’t imagine any Amusement more exciting, or dangerous, than the last one.

  Or than Will’s kiss.

  Lucinda seemed lost in thought as she brushed out her long red-gold curls. The small sphere of lamplight made the plain room seem even more secluded in the dark. I tried to think of a way to talk to her about Will, but didn’t know how to broach the subject.

  “Your dress was lovely. It suited you,” I said, just to say something. And it had been lovely. Lucinda was too remarkable a woman to wear only black.

  A modest smile touched her lips. “It belonged to Oliver’s grandmother. We found some of her things while we searched for his father’s letters. There might be a dress that would fit you,” she suggested.

  The gowns were probably exquisite, and whole, but considering my luck with my attire, I’d hate to ruin an antique dress that had once been worn by a duchess. Besides, no matter how well it would suit me, it would never truly fit me. That was the problem. I drew myself up, then rested my chin on my knees and hugged my shins.

  “Why didn’t you marry Oliver?” I asked, half to keep my mind from the feeling that danger was lingering just outside the walls.

  Lucinda dropped the brush. She fumbled trying to pick it up then set it hastily on the washstand. “Did he tell you about that?”

  “No.” Not directly.

  She shook her head. “Because it wasn’t right to do so. I had great affection for Oliver. I still . . .” Her gaze dropped to her hands. She gripped the blanket as her lips pinched tight, then she let out a weary sigh. “Simon won my heart. I chose him above all others, and I’ll never regret it.”

  I didn’t wish to pry, so I fell silent. Eventually she lifted her head and a curious expression crossed her face. “Why are you asking?”

  “No reason.” I felt my face flush. Even my ears burned.

  Lucinda’s eyes gleamed with that cat-in-the-cream expression she’d had back on the stair in her shop in London. “What happened between you and Will?”

  “Nothing.” I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

  Her expression hardened to something between shock and a scowl. “Dear Lord, Meg, did you tup him?”

  “What?!” I nearly jumped out of the bed. “Gracious. No!” I was shocked a lady like Lucinda even knew such a word. “He kissed me.” Suddenly it didn’t seem like such a huge confession at all.

  Lucinda let out a relieved chuckle as I yanked the blankets over myself, tempted to pull them all the way over my head. I wanted to die right there. How would I ever face her again? And why would she think I’d behaved like a strumpet?

  “I’m sorry, Meg.” Lucinda shook her head, but gave me a sisterly grin. “I should never have assumed such a thing. It was just your reaction—”

  “I don’t know what to do,” I confessed. “I wish I knew his mind.”

  She nodded. “Will reminds me very much of my Simon. With men like that, it’s best to have things out with them directly.”

  “What if he’s sorry he kissed me?” I sank down into the bed, the knot near my heart growing tighter.

  “He should be.” Lucinda turned out the lamp. “It was an improper thing to do.” Her covers rustled as she settled into bed. “But if he did it once, he’s likely to do it again. Best be careful.”

  I felt a tingle skitter over my skin and I smiled at the thought.

  • • •

  The next morning I woke before dawn. Lucinda snored softly in her bed, so I dressed quickly and headed down the hall. The door to the men’s bedroom stood ajar, and no one was about. I had volunteered to pack the chest Oliver had left in the kitchen, but the latch wouldn’t budge.

  I tried wrapping it in a rag, but still couldn’t pry it loose.

  Where was Will? According to our plan, he was supposed to check the coach for damage and wind it.

  I trotted up the stairs that led outside and paused. I couldn’t shake the feeling that the man trying to kill me was out there. I reminded myself that wasting time was our greatest danger and that there was no possible way for a living horse to travel as swiftly we had in the coach. I knew logically the man in black could not be out there, but my heart faltered with the prospect of finding myself face-to-face with a murderer.

  I grabbed a paring knife and opened the door.

  The gray light of dawn had barely breached the western sky as I opened the kitchen garden gate and stepped through. The wind had picked up and I glanced at the thickening clouds. A storm was coming. I raced to the stables, sliding into the dark building as the wind whistled through the door. It slammed shut.

/>   Silence engulfed me.

  “Will?” His name echoed in the massive building. “Will, are you here?”

  My boots clicked on the stone floor.

  Nothing.

  Had he left? I couldn’t find Lucinda’s horse. The stable was completely empty except for the coach.

  Will couldn’t have gone. He wouldn’t betray me and go back to Rathford. He just wouldn’t.

  I hurried out of the stables and ran back toward the kitchens, throwing open the garden gate.

  “Good morning, Miss Whitlock,” a man’s voice greeted.

  I was so startled I couldn’t scream. Instead I tripped in my haste to turn around, nearly twisting my ankle.

  Expecting to see the man in black holding a gun, I was shocked by the sight of a broad-chested older gentleman with fading blond hair and an artfully cut red beard. He dismounted from a sweaty red bay.

  I could feel my pulse in my ears, my hands, everywhere. I stared at the horse as the man dismounted, trying to determine if it was the same one I had seen with the man in black. It was the same coloring, but bays were common. The horse looked tired, as if it had just run hard. I gripped the knife behind my back and studied his face. I’d seen him before. He’d come to our shop in London from time to time.

  “I’m sorry to have startled you.” He inclined his head, and his voice was melodic and soft, but my heart pounded like that of a rabbit in a snare. There was something about the timbre of his voice that was false, as if the gentleness of it were carefully crafted. “I am Lord Strompton. I believe we can help one another.”

  Strompton. I knew that name. Dear heavens, it was Lucinda’s father.

  “I beg your pardon, my lord.” I ducked into a quick curtsy, putting on my best maid’s face. “I believe you have me confused with someone else.” When in trouble, admit nothing, deny everything. It had saved my skin countless times with Mrs. Pratt.

  “Oh?” I heard the crunch of a boot on the drive and looked up. “What is your name, then?”

  My name? Bloody hell. Something buzzed near my ear. “Bee.” It came out too suddenly, and Strompton’s eyes narrowed. “Bea, my lord. Bea Tavern . . .” Now I sounded like a lush. “Sham,” I added. “Ton.”

  “Bea Tavernshamton?”

  I lifted my chin. He’d never believe me if I didn’t believe it. “That’s right. I’m the new caretaker’s daughter. We’re staying here until His Grace returns from America.”

  I kept my voice from shaking, but my hands failed miserably. The wooden knife handle dug into my palm.

  He smiled, but his stark blue eyes remained cool and focused. He glanced at the key hanging around my neck.

  “Your clothing is in a rather sad state of repair, Miss Tavernshamton.” He slid his hand over the fine leather reins of his horse and took a step forward. I pressed my backside into the garden gate.

  “We have to make do until the new duke arrives,” I lied. The story was coming easier. Whether or not he believed me, I had to keep his attention away from Oliver and Lucinda, or he’d demand to see them both. Lord Strompton had worked on Rathford’s machine; therefore he was suspect. Owning a hard-ridden bay made him doubly so in my eyes. I felt a deep warning in my heart. Still, he hadn’t shot at me. I supposed I should count my blessings.

  “Well, Miss Tavernshamton.” He smiled, but there was no amusement in his voice and no light in his eyes. He took another step forward. “If Mrs. Lucinda Pricket should come here in a silver coach that looks a bit like the one I believe I saw near here recently, please tell her it is past time to make amends. She’s welcome at home. Surely my company and hospitality are better than hiding in an abandoned house.”

  I eased through the gate and shut it in front of me. The waist-high, white boards would hardly protect me, but at least I didn’t have anything between me and the kitchen door.

  “And should she have one Miss Margaret Whitlock with her, please tell her I want what she wants.” His clear gaze bored into mine. My knees shook as I swallowed the hard lump in my throat. “The machine should never come to light. I will ensure it. That is all.”

  Gathering his reins, he mounted his horse. “I trust you’ll give them my message.”

  He kicked his horse into a ruthless canter down the drive, and I watched him until he turned the bend in the road that led into the woods.

  He knew.

  Why was he toying with me? Whatever game he was playing, I didn’t want any part of it. I just wanted to leave, immediately. He made my blood run cold.

  With my legs unsteady, I ran into the kitchen. I nearly knocked Lucinda over in my haste to get inside and lock the door.

  “Meg!” She caught me, even as I tripped on the step. “Meg, what happened?”

  “Your father.”

  She leaned against the wall and looked as if she were about to faint. I pushed past her and planted my hands on the kitchen table to steady them.

  “What did he say?” She watched the door with wide eyes. “Does he know I’m here?”

  I nodded. “He saw the coach.”

  The floor vibrated, and I heard a rumbling beneath my feet. I jumped to the side as several stones in the floor lifted up, pulling away to open a gap, just the way the back of Rathford’s fireplace had.

  “Good gracious!” I took several steps back, not knowing how wide the hole would open. How many secret passages did this place have?

  Oliver emerged. “Quiet, it’s only us.”

  Will climbed out of the hole, his face tight with worry.

  “Will!” I took his hands. He wrapped his arms around me as Oliver twisted an iron hook by the hearth until the stones patched back together into a normal floor.

  “I’m here,” Will murmured. We sat down on the bench and I leaned my head on his shoulder. I felt so good to have him beside me again. My heart finally began to settle.

  “I thought you had gone,” I confessed. “I couldn’t find you in the stables or Lucinda’s horse. Then Lord Strompton arrived.”

  “Oliver sent me to board the horse with a nearby miller he trusts.” He touched my cheek. Relief swept over me. In this moment, he was here with me. It was enough.

  Oliver looked at us as if we had lost our wits. “What did Alastair have to say?”

  I sat up, pulling away from Will, though he held my hand. “I tried to convince him I was the new caretaker’s daughter.” If only it had worked. “I’m sure he didn’t believe me. He saw the coach and knows Lucinda is staying here, but he believes the house is abandoned. I don’t think he knows you’re home, Oliver.” I caught Lucinda’s desperate gaze. “I think he left only to humor my lie and give me a chance to tell you he’s coming for you.”

  Lucinda turned away from me, wringing her hands.

  “I should have never left London.” She paced. “I should have stayed at the shop, and never set foot outside.”

  “Stop,” Oliver said. “By God, Luli. Stop this at once.”

  She halted her pacing but glared at him. “None of this would have happened. I could have remained in mourning in peace. Now I’m trapped here with you. And my father knows I’m here.”

  Oliver removed his spectacles and crossed his arms. “So what if he does? He doesn’t own you, Luli.”

  “Doesn’t he?” Lucinda shook a lock of hair out of her loose chignon. “What will happen when he finds me with you? He tried to force me to marry you once. He’s not going to do it again. I will never marry again, Oliver. I can’t. I won’t.”

  Oliver’s expression changed. He focused, the way one does before flushing a bird and taking aim. “I don’t believe I’ve asked.” He stalked forward. I feared both of them had forgotten Will and I were in the room. I didn’t know what to say, so I huddled closer to Will.

  “I’m going back to London.” Lucinda lifted her chin even as she took a step back and put her hand out to stop the duke. “Retrieve Daisy at once. I’ve had enough of this. I’m going home.”

  Oliver reached out, but she pulled away from him.
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  “You’re not going to run back and hide. I won’t let you languish under a black veil, and London is not safe.” He snatched her hand and pulled her closer. “You’re alive, Luli. Simon would not want you to wither and die for him. He loved you too much.”

  Lucinda lifted her hand as if she were about to strike him. Oliver didn’t flinch, he didn’t retreat, and he didn’t let go.

  Glittering tears welled in Lucinda’s eyes. “Don’t you dare speak of him.” The tears began to fall. “You have no idea what I have suffered.”

  Oliver wrapped his arms around her.

  “I can’t,” she protested, even as he drew her in. “It hurt too much. I died. I died with them.”

  “You’re alive,” Oliver murmured. “Confound it, Luli, you’re still alive.”

  He kissed her.

  I couldn’t seem to look away, even though my heart nearly beat out of my chest. I felt my own tears gather. I watched Oliver kiss her as if he needed her kiss to survive. His mouth slid over hers, hungry and searching. He pulled her tight against his body and held her as if he’d never let her go again.

  Will hadn’t kissed me like that. Our kiss was fit for Sunday by comparison.

  I felt a squeeze on my hand. Will caught my eye. My breath hitched. He jerked his head toward the back hall. We made our exit, leaving Lucinda and Oliver to work out their own accord.

  Will strode down the hall, then stopped close to me, looking as if he wanted to say something. Curse him, what was holding him back? I wanted to grab him and kiss him, let him know that he meant as much to me as Lucinda did to Oliver.

  Only I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I wanted to know he wanted me in that way.

  My heart stopped. Will’s gaze met mine. I took a step closer to him. He placed his hands on my shoulders, then slid them down my arms and gathered my hands in his.

  Why couldn’t I just tell him?

  Will, I love you.

  Did I? Could I?

  He took a deep breath. “We have to leave immediately. We have no more time to linger.”