Even worse, her inquiries had not only exposed her location among the mortals to her mother, but they’d also piqued Carnélie’s interest. If Briar couldn’t figure out what was going on, Carnélie would likely decide to visit. Disaster almost always followed in her mother’s wake. Briar was quite comfortable in the life she’d constructed for herself. Her mother would destroy that in days and she’d have to reinvent herself once again.
“Are you quite well?” her dance partner asked. “You have the most frightful scowl.”
It was true. Briar relaxed her brows with some effort and did her best to affect a light smile. “I can never recall the steps to this part of the dance. Forgive me.”
He looked down at her, one eyebrow raised in polite doubtfulness. “You’re doing quite well if that’s the case. I thought perhaps…” He sneaked a quick glance over his shoulder toward one corner of the room.
Briar followed the look. Isabella Castel was ensconced with her usual entourage of fluttering ninnies. She had her head bent and was whispering in the ear of a boy wearing a waistcoat of the most horrid shade of chartreuse. The covert looks being directed Briar’s way were easy enough to read. No wonder she’d had no time. Someone was determined to waste it.
Enough of this. Briar walked the young man backward, much to his shock. He was accustomed to leading, but when she took over and guided them adroitly to the edge of the dance floor, he was powerless to do anything but follow along. As soon as they reached the edge of the floor, Briar abandoned him, leaving him gawking as couples weaved and bobbed behind him. If she hadn’t been so angry, she might have been amused at his gaping mouth. She’d seen more intelligent looking goldfish.
She’d lost sight of the Sherard girl, too many people stood between them, but Briar knew where she was. Her face set in a deliberately pleasant mask, Briar started forward through the throng. Her steps gained speed as she walked. Glittering ladies and nattily dressed men gave Briar surprised looks before moving out of her way, almost leaping in one case. Apparently her mask was slipping. Briar didn’t care. She had work to do and that silly girl was interfering with it.
A hole opened up in the crowd straight to the Sherard girl, who had the grace to look concerned for a moment before an expression of amused condescension settled lightly over her face. She turned back to the young man bent toward her and placed a hand upon his forearm. He melted back into the crowd of lovelies around her.
“Miss Riley.” Miss Castel bent her head in graceful welcome. Mischief glittered in her eyes, the slightest crinkles in the corners the only indication of her amusement.
“Miss Castel.” Briar made no attempt to warm the frost that rimed her voice. The Sherard girl could get frostbite and lose digits from it as far as she was concerned.
“Miss Riley!” One of the young women Briar usually saw at that girl’s side stepped forward. She clapped her hands in excitement. “How wonderful to see you. Are you here to thank Isabella?”
“Thank her?” Surely the brainless simpleton was joking.
“Of course. She saw how lonely and partnerless you usually are at these affairs and determined a most brilliant plan to remedy that. Isn’t she wonderful?” The girl bestowed upon Miss Castel a brilliant smile. A delicate shade of red crept up the Sherard girl’s cheeks. She snapped open her fan and hid behind it, refusing to meet Briar’s eyes.
“There’s no need to make such a thing of it, Millie.” The Sherard girl fanned herself a tad vigorously. “I’m simply trying to help out a friend.”
“So we’re friends now?” Briar asked, her voice steady. “Is that right?”
“Of course we are.” Millie reached over and delicately drew Briar into the center of the little group with a hand on her forearm. “I must declare that I’m quite excited to learn more about you. The stories are…well, there are always stories, aren’t there?”
“I’m sure there are. I’m really quite boring. Surely you have more exciting pursuits than interviewing an avowed bluestocking.”
“And yet we still see you at these affairs,” Miss Castel said. “Do you not tire of the company of your books?” A chorus of muted giggles followed her arch question.
“One can tire of almost any company, no matter how riveting it thinks it is.” Briar smiled thinly. “But that of books never disappoints. They have none of the caprices of humans, after all.”
“How sad.” Millie sighed lightly. “To have only books as bosom companions. I think I might die.”
Briar stared at the girl, trying to figure out if she was trying to be insulting. It was impossible to tell for certain, but Briar thought perhaps she wasn’t. Millie fingered the black ribbon at her throat that she was wearing instead of jewelry. If Briar remembered correctly, at the previous ball the girl had worn a splendid necklace that had positively dripped with rubies.
“Not as sad as losing your rubies,” Briar said, taking a guess. “Were they stolen?”
Someone made of less stern stuff might have burst into flames at the glare Miss Castel directed at her. Briar blinked, not sure she’d seen the anger on the Sherard girl’s face. It was gone as quickly as it had come.
Millie sighed again, bosom trying to escape the constraints of her corset. “They were, along with other items nearly as precious to me.” She paused and looked around the group which had suddenly grown quiet. “Spring-Heeled Jack paid us a visit two nights ago.”
A collective gasp shuddered through their small crowd. Briar nodded to herself.
“Not your gift from Nelson?” Miss Castel’s voice was sharp with shocked condolence. Briar thought perhaps she could have toned back the reaction.
Millie didn’t notice. “I’m afraid so. He’s quite upset, of course. Father has gone straight to Scotland Yard about it. He says the local constabulary is obviously quite out of its depth, or the ruffian wouldn’t still be at large.” She stroked the black ribbon at her neck. “I have determined to wear this ribbon until he is brought to justice and my jewels are returned to me.”
The others in the group murmured their agreement, with many of the girls pledging to do the same. The Sherard girl was curiously silent.
“Thankfully, the earl has no worries in that regard,” Briar said firmly. “He employs the latest theft-deterrent techniques and machinery.” She leaned forward to Millie. “May I be assured of your confidence?” At Millie’s excited nod, Briar continued. “He has recently acquired the Blenheim Gem.”
Millie’s lips shaped a perfectly round O of surprise.
“The Blenheim Gem?” Miss Castel’s whisper was all reverence. “No one has seen that for almost a century. Where did he find it?”
“He came across a mention of it in one of his manuscripts.” Briar shrugged. “It was a simple matter of tracking down the owner from there.” It was true enough, the earl’s manuscripts did contain at least one mention of the gem. He had no particular interest in it, but Briar had been able to track ownership of the engraved gem using her own particular talents. It was currently hidden in the crypts beneath a ruined abbey in Shropshire. Briar had no interest in such fripperies, but it had been a useful exercise.
“That would be something to see.”
“Indeed it is. I have been privileged in my viewing of it. The descriptions do not do it justice.”
“Do you not worry about the curse?” Millie asked.
“Of course not. Curses don’t exist.” Briar was lying through her teeth. Curses very much existed, and the Blenheim Gem might well be the focus of one, but she had a reputation to maintain. Ladies of her standing had no time for the mystical world, never mind that Briar worked infernal magic as well as most of her mother’s race.
“I heard the first owner of the Blenheim Gem went mad. He was convinced he’d been turned into a turnip.” Millie clearly enjoyed being the center of attention. She looked around at the rapt faces of the little group. And they were rapt. Nothing could liven up a dull ball like the story of someone else’s misfortune. “His son inherited it
and disappeared without a trace on the moors of Scotland. The gem was sold and the dealer of antiquities who acquired it lost two ships in a freak storm off the Cape of Good Hope.”
“The earl isn’t concerned, nor am I. I have seen no evidence of curses. As far as I know, he has no root vegetable aspirations, nor has he expressed an interest for long walks on the Scottish moors.”
“Nonetheless,” Millie said. “You are practically begging for your house to be robbed. Ours was, and none of our jewels had an accursed reputation.”
The Sherard girl looked like she might start salivating, then shrugged and adopted an air of insouciance. “That’s as may be. But come, Miss Riley, Lord Kirkup awaits an opportunity to take a turn around the dance floor.”
The young man with the chartreuse waistcoat materialized at Briar’s shoulder, his hand held out to her.
Enough is enough, Briar thought. If she wasn’t going to get the earl’s work done that night, then she had work of her own to do.
“My Lord Kirkup.” She smiled painfully. “I am afraid I am suddenly overcome with a splitting headache. Thank you for the request, but I must take my leave.”
He looked relieved and raised one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug aimed at the Sherard girl, who for her part seemed quite satisfied. Briar could only surmise she’d gotten what she wanted: a chance to embarrass Briar and be rid of her for the evening.
True to her word, Briar left not long after. She never did get the chance to delicately probe at Lord and Lady Griffith, but there would be other opportunities. If their daughter had been part of Miss Castel’s set, then she might have wounded two pigeons with one throw. Hopefully the groundwork had been laid and it was only a matter of time.
It was late when she arrived back at the townhouse, though not as late as it would have been had she not made her excuses early. Briar wasn’t tired in the least. She had research to do. She holed up in the library with the stack of papers she’d collected the other day and went through them methodically for any mention of mysterious burglaries. There was always crime in London, but she had a decided hunch that the burglaries perpetrated by Miss Castel’s brother would be easy to spot.
When she came across any mention of a burglary, she set the broadsheet aside into its own pile. The stack she’d managed to acquire was less than a month’s worth, and yet the issues that contained burglaries outnumbered those that didn’t. Her next step was to cut the burglaries out and arrange them chronologically across the top half of her desk. She marked a timeline in chalk along the top edge. The numbers were shockingly bright against the wood’s dark varnish.
Next she went back through the papers and removed any mention of Spring-Heeled Jack. Those went down on the desk as well, in a chronological tier along the bottom of the desk. Burglaries mentioning the mysterious figure went between the two rows to create a third tier.
Briar stood back and regarded her handiwork. She chewed meditatively at her lower lip. There was more to it, she knew it. One last piece to the puzzle, and she would have what she needed.
She left the library and crossed the large landing in the middle of the house, past the door to the servants’ stair, the garderobe, and linen closet and into her room. She had another desk in there, where most ladies would have had a dressing table. A small mirror served that purpose when she needed it. Briar kept the invitations to each ball she attended, covered with precise notes on who she’d spoken to and who else had been in attendance. She liberated the stack from beneath her diary and returned to the library.
In a final tier, she laid the invitations down in chronological order. The burglaries that coincided with sightings of Spring-Heeled Jack took place three to four evenings after balls Miss Castel had attended. Not all of them, to be certain, but enough to confirm her suspicions. Timing was the important piece now. She knew about when she could expect a visit from Miss Castel’s brother.
More preparations still remained, however. Careful not to disturb her work, Briar removed a large notepad from her desk and a fountain pen from the top drawer. She went back through the articles about Spring-Heeled Jack with careful attention, stopping now and then to jot notes down upon the pad.
Chapter Five
The library was dark. It had been tempting to leave a lamp burning on the table at the center where Briar had laid the ornate wooden box. Apparently, she had been reading too many novels. As dramatic as the scene would have been, the lamp would most assuredly tip her hand to Jack. She didn’t need the light, after all. The runes graven in a large circle around the table glowed faintly to her eyes, providing enough light to see by. They’d likely be invisible to Jack, unless he had a fair amount of demon blood running through his veins. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility, but she wasn’t overly worried.
The shroud she pulled around herself was different on this night, as it had been on the three previous nights she’d lain in wait for the second-storey man. She’d hardened it, rendered it opaque, and settled into the darkest corner of the room. The only flaw with this hardened shroud was that it was easily broken. She couldn’t move more than a twitch without it shattering and revealing her in her true form. Her normal shroud was always a thought away, but the hardened one was more difficult to summon. Still, it would have been nice to have had a book. Perhaps the new Jules Verne novel that sat unopened upon her night stand. When she’d purchased it, she’d assumed it was another adventure story like his Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. Upon closer examination, it seemed this one was a fantastical romance, certainly not something appropriate for someone of her intellectual stature, and yet, it beckoned her.
The lens she’d discovered at the ball ten days ago had come off a pair of compound goggles, of that she was certain. The earl owned a pair, and each lens had a different function. Jack would be foolish not to have one that could distinguish living beings.
Jack had another hour to reveal himself or she was going to have to give up another night as wasted. The clock in the hall had recently rung three. She fumed at the waste to her time. If she had to attend the following evening’s ball to drop more bait, that would be an even greater inconvenience. Her own work was suffering, but the mysterious source of terror she’d discovered in the carriage was too important to leave alone. She knew it in her bones, and her mother’s interest had only solidified her worries.
Fretting would make no difference. Briar schooled her mind into some semblance of calm. The urge to worry still lingered at the edges of her determined focus.
Wait. What’s that? There it was again. A creak so quiet that if she hadn’t been listening for that precise sign she would have missed it. Could it be?
One of the library’s heavy doors swung silently open. It was little more than a crack, barely enough for a dark figure to slip between them. Briar held her breath. It was definitely Jack. She could tell by the dark helmet over his head and his heavy shoulders. He matched the newspapers’ fantastical description. Briar had been prepared to discount the more outlandish tidbits, but if anything the newspapers had missed some details.
As she’d supposed, a pair of goggles rested over the front of his helmet, giving him an insect-like appearance that hadn’t been mentioned in the local rags.
Slowly, Briar let out the breath she’d been holding. Jack made his way carefully across the room until he hovered over the table, his head swinging this way and that. Briar moved like a striking snake. She pulled the pen knife from her pocket and jabbed it into the flesh of her palm. Blood dripped from her hand onto the flat stone on the floor in front of her. It blazed into brilliant life, magenta tendrils racing from it to touch the dimly glowing circle around the table. Crimson flames lit the center of the room in brightness even Jack would be able to see. Faster than he would be able to blink, they wove into a cage around him and the table.
He stood for a moment, rooted to the ground and stunned by the turn of events. Briar got to her feet, allowing her usual shroud to fall over her features. She walked slowl
y forward, allowing him to see her by the light of the magic cage she’d constructed around him. She said nothing, allowing the weight of his situation to press in on him. Silence was an effective tool, one she employed with great joy. Her victory was even sweeter for how perfectly it had turned out. Jack had no idea what he was in for, and the longer he had to wait, the more amenable he would be.
She lit an oil lamp on a nearby table, then took her time turning up the gas in the two wall lamps nearest to the crimson cage. As she moved, Jack turned to keep his eyes on her, aside from that he moved not a muscle. Briar smiled to herself.
When she was finished bringing some light to the library, Briar took a seat in a near chair.
“What do we have here, I wonder?”
Jack said nothing in return. The lenses of his goggles reflected an eerie mix of blood-red fire and soft gas light.
“You may as well take off your helmet,” Briar said. “You won’t be leaving unless I will it, and right now I’d like to see who tried to rob my employer.”
Jack still said nothing, defiance in every line of his body until his shoulders drooped. He bent forward and grasped the helm in both hands, pulling it off.
Brilliant red locks tumbled out from under the helmet, ringing around Jack’s shoulders. Briar stiffened with shock and leaned forward.
“Miss Castel?”
“Surprised, Miss Riley?”
Briar scrambled to regain her footing. “Of course I am. Who wouldn’t be surprised to discover a viscount’s daughter creeping into one’s home?”
Isabella Castel smiled tightly. “No one will believe you if you tell them. You may as well let me go.” She looked at the glowing and shifting bars around her, then up.
“You won’t be able to escape that way. I did my research on your capabilities. And I’m prepared to reveal your identity if need be.” This part Briar had prepared for. She stood and wheeled a large bellows camera on a tripod next to the table. She opened a bag and pulled out a square tray and placed it on the table with another tray. Following those were a couple of glass bottles. Isabella’s eyes followed her movements closely.
Demon in the Machine Page 5