Turnkey (The Gaslight Volumes of Will Pocket Book 1)

by Lori Williams

  “Well, I guess, honestly, I've always admired the classical image of feminine beauty. You know, grace and charm and such. But I could see how such a definition might be a bit limited, so I suppose...well...I guess it is fine to me one way or the other.”

  The lady in purple sighed. “Far too wishy-washy, sir, if you'll pardon the accusation. Real men should stand firm and take a position.”

  “Well...in that case...I suppose I find a bit of lace or a curled strand of hair over the forehead...rather...well...cute.”

  This was clearly not the answer she was hoping for. “Hmph,” she said, walking away from us. “Typical.”

  “Or not!” I called out after her. “Lady's choice!” I sighed and looked at Quill. “Do you think she's mad?”

  “Who knows?” Quill answered, tugging on her mustache. “I've never come to understand women.”

  She giggled to herself as I groaned. A moment later, she nudged me in the side.

  “What, 'Laurence?'”

  “Look,” she whispered to me.

  At the front of the room, I saw that two waiters were attending to the donation box. I watched as they brought a decorated velvet lid, neatly attached it, then lifted and carried the box away.

  “Now's our chance, Pocket!” Quill quietly and excitedly said to me.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let's stay calm about this. Keep your eyes on the box and find out where it ends up. I'll go get Jack and Gren.”

  “Understood!”

  We parted ways and I started through the crowd. Fortunately for me, Gren and Jack both have voices that are, uh, gifted with volume, so hunting them down didn't take long.

  “Stanley!” I said as I approached.

  “One second,” he said, turning back to the man with him. “So really, it wasn't personal at all. You just have that look about you, that look of, you know, antagonizing. Like you were asking to be punched in the face.”

  “Brother!” I hissed.

  “Hang on,” he said, again showing me his back. “Now, if I had known you and known, hey, that this is a gent that means me no harm, and just happens to make those sort of ugly faces against his will—hey!”

  I had grabbed Gren by the shoulder and began dragging him away.

  “Hands off!” he barked. “You wanna be the next one punched?”

  “They’re putting away the box.”

  “I don’t care. You can’t just—what?”

  “They’re putting away the donation box.”

  “They are?!? Hell, we need to move!”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  I followed Gren as he marched his way through whoever was in his path. We found Jack in the corner, chatting up another serving girl.

  “Yeah, good party, good party,” he was saying to her. “Good crowd. You know, that business earlier with my brother—“

  “Hey,” Gren said.

  “Yeah, there he is. Anyway, it wasn’t anything personal. The guy, he had this ugly look—“

  “Hey!” Gren repeated, raising his voice.

  “What? I’m busy.”

  “No, you’re not. Come here.”

  We forced Jack away, much to his very vocal displeasure.

  “Thanks a lot,” he grumbled. “I was finally making progress with that girl.”

  “The box,” Gren said.

  “The what now?”

  “Donations. They’re on the move.”

  “Oh,” Jack said. “We better go after them, huh?”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Gren replied, stealing my line.

  I rolled my eyes at his mimicry and nodded.

  “Mine too,” I said.

  The three of us began moving as nonchalantly and inconspicuously as possible, which wasn’t very much between Jack’s brashness, Gren’s scowling, and my general lack of physical coordination.

  “There’s Quill,” I said under my breath.

  “Where?” Jack asked, not remotely under his breath.

  “I see her,” Gren added. “Over there.”

  “Behind the short guy?”

  “Jack…”

  “Oh, oh, right. She’s the short guy, yeah. Mustache threw me off.”

  “But that doesn’t—“

  “Let it go,” I said flatly.

  Quill rejoined us, her bright eyes darting nervously.

  “Hello, hello, blokes,” she said in her false male voice.

  We slid out of the ballroom and into one of the side halls for privacy.

  “All right,” I said, speaking openly. “What have you learned, Quill?”

  “Well, my fellow men, once I put my male intellect to the task of—“

  “Stop that.”

  She scrunched her nose and dropped the gruff tone. “Killjoy.”

  “Just get on with it, please.”

  “They’ve put it in the study,” she said, frowning.

  “That’s perfect,” Gren said.

  “Is it?” I asked.

  “Jack and I played a round of billiards in there a bit earlier. Nice set of double windows inside.”

  “Yeah,” Jack agreed. “We can get the box out easily.”

  “Not exactly,” Quill sighed. “They’ve locked it up.”

  “The box?”

  “The study.”

  “The whole room?!?” Jack moaned.

  “Afraid so,” Quill responded. “I guess they don’t want anyone getting near the money.”

  “Lousy,” Hack-Jack sneered. “Pretty tasteless move, not trusting their own esteemed guests.”

  “So that’s it, isn’t it?” Gren said. “We’re stuck. It’s not like we can ask them to open up the room.”

  A thought struck me, and I let out a long, regretful breath.

  “Can’t we?” Jack asked.

  “That’d be a little suspicious, don’t you think?” Gren retorted. “And even if they went for it, I really doubt they’d just leave us alone and unsupervised in there.”

  “You’re right,” Quill sadly agreed.

  I sighed again and Gren caught notice of it.

  “What is it, Pocket?” he asked, raising a brow. “What’s wrong?”

  I sighed a final time and shook my head.

  “I know what we’re going to do,” I grumbled.

  The night rolled on, and the investors, filled with food and drink, were settling down from their earlier, excitable states into a more relaxed atmosphere. With careful steps and an artificial air of confidence, I strolled through the ballroom and dropped a friendly hand on the shoulder of the cheerful Mister Blue-Eyes. I hoped to God that this would work.

  “Evening treating you well, sir?” I asked with a smile.

  “Ah, William!” he responded. “Very well, thank you. And you?”

  “Can’t complain.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear it,” he said.

  I nodded politely, straightened my posture, and then, I made my move.

  “Incidentally, sir,” I said, “I was hoping to speak to you regarding your earlier proposition.”

  “You mean, regarding Helen?”

  “Helen?”

  “My daughter.”

  “Yes, yes, Helen, of course. About her tutoring—”

  “You can save your breath, son. I know she’s already spoken to your brother and has been informed of your intentions.”

  Intentions. Ug.

  Thanks to Gren, I knew I had to choose my words carefully before I ended up in some stockade.

  “My intentions, yes, to tutor her. Tutor her.”

  “Well, that’s just fine. I’m glad my girl will be given a proper education.”

  “I agree! Which is why I was hoping to begin her lessons as soon as possible.”

  “Enthusiastic, aren’t you, William? Well then, how about…let me see…next Monday?”

  “How about tonight?”

  He looked me over with great surprise. “Tonight? You mean here?”

  “Yes.”

  He frowned. “Hardly seems like a proper e
nvironment for such a thing.”

  “Oh, with all respect, sir, I disagree.” I took a deep breath. Had to make this good. “Tonight is clearly a celebration of modernity! Of progress! Of an enlightened people sitting on…uh…the, the cusp of tomorrow! Of, um, a rising sun over Britain! What better setting for your daughter’s entrance into the…uh…scholarly realm? Or into womanhood?”

  He took a moment, mulling it over. I feared I may have overdone it with the “scholarly realm” talk.

  “Well,” he finally said, “I suppose that makes sense. Still, it doesn’t seem very private.”

  “I’m sure we could find some unoccupied space. A study or a sitting room or a…study.”

  Again he mulled, but ultimately agreed. I glanced over his shoulder and spotted Quill signaling to me, as she and the boys were casually posed next to the locked study.

  The gentleman sent for his daughter, who was more than happy to attend an unscheduled session. And thus I began to escort Helen Blue-Eyes.

  “Well, Mister Falston,” she said as we walked, “or is it Headmaster Falston now?”

  “Mister will do fine, thanks.”

  “Mister it is,” she said, giving me a very strange smile that put me instantly on edge. “So! What will be the subject of tonight’s discussion?”

  As we approached the study, my cohorts quietly strolled off and blended into the surroundings.

  “Literature,” I said, keeping my eyes fixed on the door.

  “Any work or author in particular?”

  “Pocket,” I said without thinking.

  “Who?”

  I snapped back to attention. “Uh, Pocket. Will Pocket.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  “Uh…right. I mean, I’m not surprised. He was an underrated poet of the last century. Seldom read.”

  “Interesting. And I am very fond of poetry.”

  “That’s good! Because I intended to share, um, a selection from Mister Pocket’s collected works.”

  I smiled to myself as we reached the door.

  “I just need to retrieve a volume from the hall’s study,” I said, clenching the doorknob. “It will just take a moment.”

  I tried opening the door, and as Quill had indicated, it was firmly locked. I feigned surprise.

  “Huh,” I said to Helen Blue-Eyes. “That’s strange.”

  She gave me another unsettling smile.

  “You seem to be having some trouble with doors tonight.”

  I half-frowned. “Seems so.”

  We stood in silence for a bit, as I realized that I was going to have to bring the question up.

  “I don’t suppose you still have your father’s key on you, do you?”

  “I do.”

  Again I politely waited, and again she said nothing.

  “Uh…could I use it…once more?”

  “Of course.” She brought out the skeleton key and moved it towards the hole.

  “However,” she said, pausing, “perhaps we shouldn’t.”

  “Uh…what?”

  “Well, what I mean is, certainly they must have had a reason to lock off the study in the first place.”

  “Maybe,” I said, trying to think, “possibly, yes. Or they may have simply locked it out of habit.”

  “That could be,” she said, putting the key to the door before again pulling it away. “But maybe, Mister Falston, this room has been sealed to keep something in or someone out.”

  I stared at her, beginning to become annoyed.

  “Well,” I finally said, fighting to keep my tone even, “whatever the reasoning behind it, I don't really care. I have no interest in the study itself, only in retrieving my book of poetry. So, if you would—“

  “About this poetry,” she said, crossing her arms, “what manner is it?”

  “Oh, you know. Typical, old-fashioned, a bit long and rambling.”

  “So they are epics then? Like the old romances?”

  “You could call them that.”

  “And tonight's selection, what is it called?”

  My mind raced. “It's called...’The Girl Behind The Glass.'”

  “A charming title. And what is it about?”

  I made a small, sad smile. “Beauty amongst ugliness.”

  Helen Blue-Eyes chuckled, and then softly unlocked the door.

  “Doesn't seem like a tale to be missed,” she said, pushing the door open with her outstretched fingers.

  “Yes,” I agreed, watching a line of shadow expand from the darkened room upon its revelation. “It's my favorite.”

  I felt around inside the study, found a lantern, and lit it with a nearby matchstick. Light filled the space, and my eyes immediately fell upon the donation box

  “So where's your book?” Helen asked, peering past me. “I don't see one lying out.”

  “Oh, well, someone must've found it, put it away by mistake, probably on that bookshelf,” I said, alluding to a large one standing opposite of me. “It'll just take me a minute to track it down.”

  “I see,” the young lady said. “Perhaps I should wait outside, watch the door?”

  I couldn't help grinning. “Good idea. I mean, we don't want to disrupt the party. Better close the door behind you, too.”

  She nodded and excused herself. As soon as I was alone, I found the set of double windows Gren had mentioned and checked them out. They popped and swung open easily, neither locked nor barred. I stuck my head out and found a soft patch of trimmed grass not far beneath the edge of the windows. I laughed to myself, not believing how easily this was going.

  Then I heard the doorknob turn. Quickly, I closed the windows and grabbed a bound, unmarked book off of the shelf. Helen Blue-Eyes re-entered, again with that odd smile, and shut the door behind her.

  “Hey there,” I said, waving the book at her. “Back so soon?”

  “I got to thinking,” she said, catching me surprised by speaking in a deeper, more serious tone instead of her usual, flighty manner, “and I decided that I'd prefer to join you here inside. I take it you've found what you were looking for?”

  “Uh, yeah. Got it right here.”

  “I wasn't referring to the book.”

  “I don't think I understand.”

  “Let’s talk,” she said, moving to a music box in the room. “And have some music. You like Lady Jay?”

  She sent a cylinder moving and the sound of the songbird’s voice filled the room.

  “Got to watch your footing, got to keep in check. Got to keep on moving, got to watch your neck.”

  I tried to ignore the music and set down the book I was holding.

  “Fine,” I said, keeping a cautious and serious eye on the woman in the room. “Let’s talk.”

  “Tell me, Falston,” she continued, “how large of a fool do you take me for?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “Should I have thought larger or smaller?”

  “Funny.” She put her finger to a globe and spun it. “So how long have you been planning this?”

  “Planning what?”

  “This charade.”

  “If you’re accusing me of—“

  “How much is in that box, Falston?”

  I scowled, knowing she had me. “I don’t know,” I finally said. “I honestly don’t. We were just going to take whatever was there and run.”

  “That was your plan?”

  “Not mine, no. I was sort of thrown into this whole scheme.”

  “Mmm…I can tell. No offense, Falston…or Smith or Jones or whoever you’d like to call yourself, but you make for a terrible liar.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “Granted I was a little skeptical at first, but that scholarly act of yours fell straight to pieces the moment you started with that ‘Will Pocket’ talk. Next time spend a little thought before you conjure up a pseudonym. Choose one that sounds a little plausible and less fitting for a theater puppet. You know, less Punch and Judy.”

  I had decided, right there, that I
did not like this woman.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I flatly stated.

  “You’re getting angry, Falston,” she replied. “I wouldn’t recommend that. Not to the woman who could tighten your noose rather quickly.”

  I took the hint and faked a calm demeanor. “I’m sure you could.”

  “Easily. All I’d have to do right now is scream, make a little noise, and half of the party would be in here and at your neck.”

  “I imagine so,” I said evenly, betraying no emotion to the woman. “But what if I told you that I’m carrying a pistol?”

  “Then you’d be lying.”

  Damn.

  I took in a few breaths and assessed the situation. This woman had me pinned, cornered, but despite my nerves, I was not completely convinced that she would outright turn me in, especially after she had taken such lengths to get me this close to the prize. She was watching me for a reaction, and I knew I had to handle myself carefully.

  “All right,” I said at last. “So where is this heading?”

  “Well,” she replied, “I could scream. Or…I could be persuaded to remain more ladylike.”

  “Ladylike?”

  “Of course. It isn’t very becoming for a young woman to raise her tone to such a shrill degree amongst proper company.”

  “Sure…” I cautiously replied.

  “So persuade me.”

  “And how do you suggest I do that?”

  “You really are a terrible gentleman, aren’t you?”

  I shrugged.

  “Ladies are fickle,” she continued. “Their favor is won by adoration, praise. I assumed you would know, given how highly your friend spoke of your ‘talents.’”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, I told that idiot that this would—“

  “Adoration, if I may carry on, means providing gestures of your affection. Tokens. Gifts.”

  I understood and began grinding my teeth. These lessons on culture were going to cost me.

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  “Half,” she demanded, pointing at the box.

  This surprised me, and I had to stare at her for a moment to make sure that she was serious.

  And she was.

  “Blackmail,” I said with a wry smile. “Classy.”

  “I don’t need the opinions of a thief, thanks. Just open the box.”

  “And if it’s locked?”

  She gave me a mocking look. “Kick it.”

  With a hesitant grunt, I removed the lid, unlocked, from the donation box. She quickly scooped up two fistfuls of envelopes.