The Girl in the Steel Corset tsc-1

by Kady Cross

  The redhead smiled crookedly. “Makes it go fast.”

  “Very fast?” Finley asked, returning the smile.

  Emily chuckled. “Very fast, yes.”

  “How did you learn to do this?” It was fascinating and strange to her, a girl knowing how to fix machines. What wonderful knowledge to have.

  “I’ve been interested in how things work since I was but a lass. My father and brothers are all inventors or mechanically inclined. I’m the only girl, and my mother died when I was young, so I grew up watching them. It just seemed to make sense that I start tinkering myself.”

  “Fascinating,” Finley murmured, watching the girl’s dirty, nimble fingers move like a virtuoso playing an instrument. Then, “I’m sorry about your mum.”

  “Thanks. I don’t remember her.”

  “My parents are still alive. Well, my mum is. She lives with my stepfather. My father—my real father—died when I was a baby.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Those simple words surprised Finley, touched her. For a moment she entertained the notion of ignoring her need to get out into the night and staying here. Maybe she could help Emily with her repairs.

  But this girl wasn’t her friend, and wasn’t likely to be her friend because Finley couldn’t stay here forever. She didn’t belong in that fancy house with these smart and privileged people. This wasn’t her world.

  “Right.” She slapped her palms against her thighs. “I’ll be off then.”

  Emily watched her as she stood. “Be careful.”

  Finley grinned at her as she swung her leg over the cycle she’d chosen and sat down. “Careful? Where’s the fun in that?”

  And then she found the mechanism to make the beast move and she tore out of the stables without a backward glance.

  Chapter 5

  If the city of London was a body, Whitechapel would be the groin; a great unwashed area that only showed itself under the cover of darkness, and only for the most salacious of entertainments. No one of “proper” birth ever admitted to going there, but they all did at one time or another—or at least they wanted to. Slumming was very popular these days.

  A perpetual mist seemed to hang over the streets like the stench of a drunkard’s breath. It was a dismal place, where the “unfortunate” ladies sold themselves and “three penny uprights” were often conducted where anyone might stumble upon them. Gin was cheap, too, and if you knew what doors to knock on you could buy a bit of oblivion in an opium den, or time with a lost loved one from an Aether monger. The mechs in this part of town were rough and awkward, tarnished.

  In short, it was a poor, pathetic place that the modern world seemed to have forgotten, or conveniently ignored. Here, the streetlights still ran on gas and flickered with a watery yellow glow. Coal was used instead of the more expensive teal ore sold by King Industries because coal was easier to steal. Dentistry was a pair of dirty tongs, and bathing was thought to make a body susceptible to all manner of illness. And any vice ever dreamed by the mind of man was available for a cheaper price in Whitechapel than anywhere else in all of London.

  Of course, you got what you paid for.

  So a pretty girl with a full set of teeth and not a pock-mark to be seen, all toffed out in the latest style, stood out like a rose in a pile of steaming offal. She was spotted near Princess Alice pub in the Commercial Street area, not far from where Saucy Jack, or “The Ripper” as many called him, had done some of his “work” nine years earlier. And word spread quickly that she was looking for Jack Dandy, prince of this abysmal kingdom.

  Finley tried not to smile as heads turned to watch her walk. Whispers followed her, as did the odd ragged man. The weaker half of her would be afraid of this part of the city. She’d think it foolish to flaunt herself this way, but why shouldn’t she go wherever she wanted? There was very little here that could hurt her. Even if they descended upon her in a pack like wolves after a deer, she’d still prove herself more of a predator than all of them put together.

  Rich Boy’s earlier remark about Lord Felix being a member of the Dandies had stuck with her. Lord Felix was a bully and liked being in control, so if he actually followed this Jack Dandy, then Finley wanted to meet the man. Have a little chat with him, perhaps, and take his measure for herself.

  Dandy might prove to be a handy person to know.

  She’d left her transportation on top of an old but sturdy shed a few streets back. She didn’t trust Dandy not to steal it from her and she’d rather have a means of escape should it come to that. Besides, being on foot would make it that much easier for Dandy to find her, which is what she was counting on him to do.

  She looked forward to meeting the infamous criminal, now that she’d heard some of the rumors about him during this evening’s search. She just had to meet the man that had half the young bucks in London putting bits of metal in their faces and committing all kinds of mischief. And, yes, she wanted to make a little trouble for Lord Felix.

  She turned a corner onto a darker side street. It was quieter here in an eerie sort of way, but that didn’t stop a ragged man from following her. He wasn’t what anyone would call stealthy by any stretch of the word. He sniffed and chuckled and hawked up phlegm as though wanting the entire city to hear. Finally, she’d had enough and turned to tell him to bugger off.

  Only…only the ragged man wasn’t there. No one was. Frowning, Finley turned on her heel.

  And found herself staring at a full, unsmiling mouth. She didn’t jump back; she was too stunned—and impressed. How had he managed to sneak up on her? No one ever snuck up on her. Raising her gaze, she discovered two of the darkest eyes she’d ever seen, framed by thick, long eyelashes that no fellow should ever be allowed to own.

  “Hullo, darling.” He grinned, revealing teeth that were startling straight and white in the moonlight. “I ’eard you was lookin’ for me.”

  He was tall and slim, dressed in the height of fashion in solid black, so as to blend with the shadows on the street. His hair was dark, as well, and fell about his pale face in tousled waves. A Cockney gentleman—the strangest oxymoron. He was handsome—in a Lucifer kind of way. He was cool night to Griffin King’s warm light of day, though why she would even bother to compare the two was a mystery.

  “I was,” she replied.

  He held his arms out to the side, displaying himself in a vulnerable pose that on him didn’t seem vulnerable at all, but rather like a taunt. “And now that you ’ave?”

  She shrugged. “I thought you’d be more impressive.” In truth, she rather liked the sight of Jack Dandy—and there was no one else he could be but the fellow she was looking for.

  He laughed, throwing his head back so the sound echoed through the night. A shiver slithered down Finley’s spine. Anticipation, mixed with a rare taste of fear, fluttered in her stomach. She liked it. She liked him.

  Done laughing, but still smiling, he offered her his arm. “Care to take a turn, Treasure?”

  Finley slipped her arm through his. The black wool of his frock coat was soft and warm beneath her hand. He walked her into the moonlight as though escorting her into a ball. Even though she knew she could snap his neck in an instant, she felt slightly off center—somewhat as her other half had with Griffin. Dandy had power, and that gave him confidence. She might have the strength to harm him, but he wouldn’t go down easily, and she might not survive the altercation.

  And as with Griffin, this elevated Dandy in her estimation.

  As they walked, the subtle lamplight of a dirigible washed over them. Finley glanced up, watching the light grow closer, slowly descending from the sky in a whirl of propellers as the ship made its way into the London air dock just a few miles away. How amazing it must be to float so high, to travel so quickly.

  Dandy followed her gaze, but they didn’t stop walking. “I was up in one of them flyers once,” he told her. “I climbed over the rail and hung on to one of the ropes. Freeing it was. I almost let go.”

  She whip
ped her head around to gape at him. “The fall would kill you.”

  He smiled ever so slightly. “Not afore I flew. Worse ways to go.”

  Falling to one’s death was in no way pleasant, but Finley thought for a moment—of what it would feel like to fall from that great height, to feel the wind through her hair, taste the clouds. Yes, it would be like flying. And she could think of worse ways to die.

  He drew her up the shallow stone step to a stone row house. There was nothing special or welcoming about it. The windows were grimy, the paint peeling off the front door, and Finley had to question the intelligence of stepping over the threshold. It could be a trap. He could have men with weapons inside, and trained thugs would be harder to fight than common men.

  Still, she wasn’t about to be afraid, not in front of this young man, who was just wolfish enough she reckoned he could smell fear. He was exactly the type to take advantage of a weakness when he found it. It was what she would do. And, honestly—vainly—she was a girl of little weakness.

  She entered the dim interior ahead of Dandy. Inside, the house looked nothing like it did on the exterior. The hardwood floor was buffed and polished to a high shine. Paintings hung on the wine-colored foyer walls, and just beyond that she saw an inviting parlor. That was where Dandy took her.

  She gave a low, appreciative whistle. “You live here?” she asked, relieved that there wasn’t a thug in sight. Obviously she and Dandy shared an enjoyment of the finer things in life, judging from the rich colors and fabrics that swathed the room.

  Dandy chuckled. “Too many people would like to kill me in my sleep, right? So I never sleep where I conduct me business.”

  She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye as she crossed the richly patterned rug that covered most of the parlor floor. “Are you truly that wicked, Mr. Dandy?” she inquired, running her fingers over the plush velvet cushions on the sofa as she watched him from beneath lowered lashes.

  Leaning against the door frame, he arched a dark brow at her mildly flirtatious tone. In the brighter light, she could better ascertain his age. She guessed him to be one and twenty at the oldest. Young to have such a reputation. “I can be, Miss Jayne.”

  Fingers of ice closed around Finley’s heart. For the first time, her confidence was genuinely shaken, and for a moment, that weak side of her threatened to take over. She sank down onto the sofa. “You…you know my name. How?”

  He grinned—a baring of those perfect teeth—and stepped away from the door frame. “Wouldn’t be much of a villainous mystery if I told you that, would I?”

  She wasn’t quite sure how to respond, nor could she be confident that her voice wouldn’t shake, so she remained silent. She simply sat there and watched him cross to a polished oak sideboard where an array of crystal bottles sat. A deep breath set her nerves to rights. Dandy was no threat to her. She knew this because she was no threat to him. They were alike, they were. Both predators, both dangerous and both vain. And they each found the other fascinating.

  “Care for a little of the Green Fairy, Treasure?”

  Absinthe. She’d never had it before, but she’d heard others talk about. Artists drank it. It was something improper people indulged in. That alone was reason enough for Finley—given her current personality—to say yes.

  “How do I know you won’t slip laudanum in it?” The medicine didn’t have as much of an effect on her as it did on “normal” people, but it would still make her groggy for a bit—less sharp.

  He smiled over his shoulder at her. “I’ve a sneakin’ suspicion you’re much more entertainin’ awake than asleep.”

  Now who was being a flirt? Satisfaction curved Finley’s lips, but she watched him like a hawk regardless. They were similar enough that she knew better than to trust him completely. He might not try to hurt her, but he’d take the upper hand however he could.

  Slotted silver spoons topped with absinthe-soaked sugar cubes lay across the rim of each small glass. Dandy produced a box of safety matches and struck one, igniting the tip in a strong-smelling blaze, which he then applied to the cubes of sugar. They burned for but a second before he tipped them each into their respective glass. The absinthe went up in a beautiful flame, which Finley thought was sure to set his cuffs ablaze, but Dandy calmly emptied a measure of water into both drinks, dousing the flames. He stirred each, and handed one of the glasses to Finley. She stared at it in wonder.

  “Blimey, if you ain’t a rare one,” said Dandy, seating himself on the crimson loveseat opposite her.

  “What do you mean?” She raised her glass to her lips and drank. The now milky liquor tasted like licorice, vaguely sweet on her tongue.

  “Come in ’ere, bold as brass, but you ain’t got none of the street stink on you. I bet right now your mum’s wonderin’ what you’ve got up to. Wouldn’t she be disappointed to discover you ’aving a drink wiv me?”

  “My mother doesn’t know I’m here.” As she said it, guilt tugged at her conscience. She buried it with a coy smile. “You’re not going to tell on me, are you?”

  Her attempt at flirting only seemed to amuse rather than intrigue him. “Why are you ’ere?” he asked, looking like a pale, night-clad creature on that bloodred velvet. He reclined as though he hadn’t a care in the world, long legs splayed. His boots were as perfectly polished as Rich Boy’s. “We don’t get many girls like you in these parts.”

  She snorted. “No, I bet you don’t.” There weren’t any other girls like her, were there?

  Dandy just sat there, watching her as he took a swallow from his glass. Waiting.

  “I’ve got a message for Felix August-Raynes,” she told him, finally getting down to business. “He’s one of yours, is he not?”

  “One of my what?”

  She waved a dismissive hand and took another sip of lovely absinthe. “Followers, lackeys. Disciples.”

  Both dark brows went up as teeth flashed again. “Disciples. I likes that one, luv, ’onest to God I do.” The smile gave way to a vaguely mocking frown. “But I fink you’re a tad misguided in your information. I don’t have that kind of power over no one. I has associates and that’s it.”

  Obviously it was a familiar spiel he gave to disengage himself from criminal activity committed by his cohorts. Finley rolled her eyes. “Do you know Lord Felix or not?”

  He regarded her for a moment and made her wait while he decided to answer. He even went so far as to take another swallow from his glass. She enjoyed watching him as he did so. “I know ’im.”

  Finley inched forward on the cushions until she was perched on the edge of her seat. She forced herself to meet his gaze and not look away, not even to blink. “Then perhaps you’d tell him that if he ever tries to force himself upon another girl, I’ll kill him.”

  She’d wager Dandy didn’t often look as surprised as he did right at that moment. But it wasn’t for the reason she thought. Her threat of violence bounced right off him. “Did he try to force himself upon you?” His voice was oddly calm—the Cockney he affected absent.

  “Yes.”

  Watching his expression change was like watching thunderclouds suddenly blot out the entire sky. In that moment, she saw the truly dangerous side of Jack Dandy and it was as glorious as it was terrifying. This was why entitled brats like Lord Felix followed him; because they wanted a little bit of that danger for their own. Only, Dandy didn’t give his power away to anyone.

  And then, as suddenly as it appeared, it was gone again. She might have thought she’d imagined it were it not so emblazed upon her memory.

  “I’ll pass on the message if I see his lordship, rest assured.”

  “Thank you.” She took another sip of absinthe. She liked it, but it wasn’t something she’d want to drink vast quantities of. “I’ll take my leave of you now.”

  He didn’t try to talk her out of it. He simply raised his lanky frame from the cushions and followed her to the door.

  “Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Dandy.” She wished she co
uld be there the next time Lord Felix came ’round and heard her message. He’d probably suffer an apoplexy.

  “My door is always open,” he replied, but his tone was lacking its previous joviality. “You know how to find it.”

  Finley arched a brow at him, not liking at all this new seriousness. She had just gotten accustomed to his flippancy, and his tone was just a little too sincere for her to discredit. “That sounds an awful lot like an offer of friendship, sir.”

  Jack Dandy reached out the long fingers of his right hand and gently touched her cheek. “Don’t mistake me, Treasure. I can offer you many things, but friendship ain’t one of them. Now, for once in your life, be a sensible girl and run away.”

  And surprisingly, Finley did.

  By the time his aunt Cordelia arrived, Griff had already had the morning from hell. First, he awoke a few hours before dawn to the sound of a velocycle pulling into the drive. It was Finley. He hadn’t known she was gone. And a note from Emily told him that before Finley left last night she’d been very much unlike the timid sweet girl she’d been earlier that day. She’d seemed almost like a completely different person.

  Awake and irritable, he took a shower, wishing he were on his estate in Devon where he might have gone for a swim in the pond instead. Once dressed, he went downstairs for an early breakfast and found a letter waiting for him from Sam’s father, steward of that Devon estate. It was brief, but annoying. It seemed the new groundskeeper had left his post without any warning over a week ago and now Morgan was left trying to hire someone new. Knowing Morgan’s dislike of modern technology, Griff tried not to be too irritated that the man had written rather than telephoned or even telegraphed the information.

  There was also a similar missive from the museum curator who had sent on a list of things taken the night of the robbery. Amongst the various innocuous items was a hairbrush on loan from Queen Victoria for an upcoming Jubilee exhibition.

  Bloody marvelous, now he’d have to deal with the Buckingham set.