A Riveting Affair (Entangled Ever After)

by Candace Havens

  Miss Clancy’s glare intensified.

  “Yes, well, that was also a surprise,” Maisy said honestly. She wished Miss Clancy hadn’t brought up Calloway. She had worked so hard to put him out of her mind.

  “I would burn those clothes if I didn’t think you would just turn around and buy more. A disgrace, a young woman of your station wearing leather like that.” She tsked.

  Thankfully, fire was not something her former nanny could conjure as a specter. She could use her ghostly energy to push buttons and pull levers, but she could not strike a match.

  Shortly after her premature death at the age of twenty-seven from tuberculosis, Miss Clancy’s spirit had attached herself to Maisy. An exorcism would be easy enough to do, but in truth Maisy liked having her around. For all of her busybody ways, she was a voice of reason. One of the few in Maisy’s life. Many times she didn’t heed the advice, but it was seldom wrong. Whether she was working on an invention or had a question about morality, Miss Clancy had a ready answer.

  Maisy had rigged the kitchen with a system of levers and pulleys so the ghost, who felt everyone, even after death, should have a purpose, could prepare meals. A soft-boiled egg fell into a small cup and the toast popped onto a plate ready for Maisy’s breakfast.

  “If it makes you feel better, I’ll wear a dress when I take the carriage into town today.”

  Miss Clancy glanced up at the ceiling of the train. “Yes, the blue one with rosette buttons,” she said. “And for goodness sakes wear a decent hat.”

  Fort Worth, Texas

  If Julian were nearby, he most certainly would have sent his man to Fort Worth for supplies…or even for unnecessary luxuries to outfit his latest hideout. So she and Barnes set out for town as soon as Miss Clancy had completed her lectures and begun the process of running the dirty dishes through the steam dish bath.

  The best place to find information on new visitors would be in the White Elephant Saloon. But there were certain places a woman of her station did not go and the White Elephant was one of them. Maisy enjoyed thwarting convention in many areas, but even she had her limits.

  Though she had only been in Fort Worth for a short time, the townspeople already saw her as eccentric. The whispers and raised eyebrows whenever she visited the various shops were evidence of that. Women did not know what to make of her, and men usually treated her as if she were daft. She didn’t mind, as they almost always underestimated her. That was for the best.

  “Go to the saloon and see what you can find out,” she instructed Barnes as he helped her down from the carriage. “Listen only and let me know if you see anyone familiar—or unusual.” Barnes had a way of knowing what people were about without ever meeting them. He could watch their body language and tell their life story in a matter of minutes. Handy man to have around for many reasons, but that talent was most helpful.

  Barnes tapped his finger against his temple. “Yes, miss.”

  No doubt he’d have a hint of Julian’s whereabouts in no time.

  She straightened her small bustle, grabbed her parcel from the carriage seat, and headed down the dusty sidewalk toward the inn. But before she made it, she passed by a bill hanging on the wall of a small shop. It advertised the coming Harvest Festival. Then her attention fixed on the shop itself—the recently opened Lace & Steam shop, which had not been here when last she’d come to town two weeks prior. Peering into the window, she made out rows of fabric bolts and lace. A small working model of a dirigible circled the ceiling of the shop, and whimsical bits and bobs from all over the world hung from the ceiling and perched on display shelves. This was like no other lace shop Maisy had seen before. Her curiosity was piqued, and if Julian had come through town in the last week, the offerings within would have caught his attention. Besides, she’d brought her britches for repair, and though she normally used the discreet milliner closer to the inn, this spot might do just as well.

  As she opened the door to enter, a bell rang overhead and the smells of vanilla and cinnamon assailed her.

  “Welcome,” a sweet and feminine Irish lilt sang out from behind several bolts of exquisite silks. A young woman with a pixie-like face and auburn curls stepped into view, and her eyes widened when she saw Maisy. “Oh, what a beautiful dress. It looks as though it came straight from Madame Durand’s shop.”

  “You have a well-trained eye. Thank you. And what a lovely place you have here.”

  The young woman smiled. Her silvery blue eyes were ethereal with a fairy-like quality to them. “My father had a shop much like it in Dublin. It makes me feel as though I’m back home. I’m Delaney O’Sullivan, born a MacAlister. Would you like some tea? I’ve just brewed a pot.”

  “Thank you, yes,” Maisy said. Normally, she declined anything she hadn’t made herself. Poison seemed to be a popular weapon among her enemies. But she was parched after the ride in, and it was hard to resist the temptation of a properly made cup of tea. She’d found that Americans were clueless in that department, and she held out hope for the Irish lass. “I’m Maisy Clark,” she introduced herself.

  “Oh, yes, I know,” Delaney said. “You’re the talk of the town.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Sorry, my tongue often runs well beyond my brain.”

  Maisy gave her a quick smile. “I have the same problem. And you haven’t shared anything I didn’t already know. The man at the stables called me ‘high fa-lutin.’ I don’t even know what that means, but I gathered he thought me too wealthy and elite for my own good.”

  “They do not seem to have a problem with men having wealth around here.” Delaney huffed. “But a woman with money, well, she’s up to no good.” The shopkeeper rolled her eyes.

  Maisy laughed for the first time in a long time. She quite liked this proprietress.

  While Delaney poured tea, Maisy glanced around the shop.

  “This lace is superb,” she said as she admired the piece on a tabletop.

  “My grandmother’s design. Milk and sugar?”

  Maisy inclined her head.

  Delaney handed her a delicate china cup with blue and white flowers. She took a tentative sip and was transported to her favorite teashop around the corner from father’s house in Devonshire. “Delicious.” She closed her eyes and savored the sweet and somewhat spicy blend.

  “Something else my father taught me,” Delaney said. “He worked in an English nobleman’s house as a butler for several years before setting up his shop. The lace design you were admiring was from his mother. It has taken me years to perfect, but I feel as though I’ve done a fairly capable job of it.”

  “More than capable, I’d say. I’ve been around the world a few times and never have I seen such intricate work.”

  She blushed at the compliment.

  Maisy pointed toward the ceiling. “The dirigible is delightful. Is that another of your father’s designs?”

  She nodded. “Yes, much easier to replicate as he gave me the schematics before I left home.”

  That stopped Maisy short. She hadn’t encountered another woman tinkerer since she’d left London. “You are quite the Renaissance woman.”

  Delaney set her cup of tea on the counter. “A woman must fight to make her own way in the world if she wants to stay independent. From what I understand, Miss Clark, the same could be said of you.”

  “Please, call me Maisy. I’m not one for formalities.”

  “Thank goodness. If you called me Mrs. O’Sullivan, I’d be searching in fear for my mother-in-law, God rest her soul,” the other woman said seriously.

  “So you’re married?”

  At Delaney’s stricken look, Maisy wished she hadn’t asked the question.

  “I was.” She turned away for a moment.

  “Well…” Maisy searched for a change of subject. “I believe I must have some of that lace and one of those dirigibles.” Barnes would love the toy. The man might be old, but he had the heart of a child—in addition to the mind of a military genius and the moves of a well-trained combat soldi
er.

  “Of course,” she said picking up a receipt book and a pencil. “Anything else?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  Delaney followed Maisy through the shop as she picked out one item and then another. When they reached the fabrics they discussed several styles of dresses and Delaney showed some sketches she had made of different designs. The woman was quite innovative and talented.

  Several minutes later they were back at the counter. Maisy stared at the parcel she had brought in then pulled out the ripped leather britches from the night before. She showed Delaney where the creatures’ claws had rendered the clothing useless. “I need four more pairs of these,” she said.

  Taking the britches, Delaney checked the seams and the buttons. She bit her lip. “I can replicate them, but I wonder if you’d mind if I use a different type of thread. Many of these tears are at the seams, and I think we could make them stronger by using something else I’ve come up with.”

  The woman was brilliant. “Whatever you think best.”

  Delaney wrote down the order, never batting an eye over a woman of Maisy’s station commissioning leather britches with her own measurements. And judging by the woman’s skill with lace and innovation, Maisy thought the proprietress might be able to help her.

  “May I ask for your discretion?”

  Delaney considered Maisy for only a second and put her pencil down. “Of course.”

  “Could you make a dress where the front panel might easily be removed?”

  Delaney’s eyebrow rose, but she said nothing.

  “I sometimes wear the leather britches underneath my gowns, in case I need to ride quickly, and the skirts are such a nuisance,” Maisy said.

  Delaney held up a hand, and Maisy paused. Then she sketched something on the pad where the other dresses had been drawn. In less than a minute, she turned the pad so Maisy could see what she had created.

  The dress looked like any other, except the front had been folded back on each side like a curtain on a window. It was simple—so simple, in fact, Maisy had never considered cobbling together such a solution.

  “Perfect,” she whispered. “How does it stay fastened?”

  Reaching into a drawer, Delaney pulled out some metal hooks. “Under the ribbons here on the front skirt I would use stays so that it could be easily pulled apart and fastened to the back of the skirt when you needed to ride. Or we could just use ribbons, but the knots would have to be solid, and you’d have to have time to tie them. I think the hooks might hold better.”

  Maisy smiled with delight. “I say, I’m most impressed. This is exactly what I’ve needed for ages. Could we make these dresses instead of the ones we discussed? And I would be willing to pay extra to rush the process along.” She had no idea how much longer she would be in Fort Worth. Julian could take off at any moment and she would have to follow.

  She frowned. Her time in the shop had been the most fun she’d had in ages. But then, she should know that her life was never about frivolity or fun. She had a very important job to do, and it must always take priority.

  Delaney turned the pages of a small book near her cash register. “I can have my assistant work on some of these other projects. I could probably have at least two of the dresses made in a few days, but I’d rather have a week as I’m a bit of a perfectionist about quality. And I’d need that long to do the britches, too.”

  Maisy tapped her finger on the counter. She had a feeling Julian would be moving on soon, but she could always ship them to the next town if necessary.

  “Excellent.” Maisy opened her purse.

  They agreed on a price, which was quite modest, and Delaney bundled the rest of her purchase. Barnes would arrive with the carriage soon and she was quite happy with what she had managed to acquire, but she had one more purpose for coming this way.

  “Have you seen anyone unusual in town lately? Anyone who…” She paused, wary of giving the poor woman anything further that would require discretion. “Doesn’t seem as if he’s the type to live so far from luxury?”

  Delaney watched Maisy carefully for several long seconds and then smiled. “It is, of course, none of my business. But if someone from your family were to come to Fort Worth, intending perhaps to take you back where you ‘belong,’ I assure you, you have my silence. A woman of means once came to my shop, but she was leaving town the following day, so I couldn’t help her with an emergency alteration.”

  Maisy laughed, delighted at something so…normal, she supposed, being attributed to her abnormal situation. Julian might have come asking, but he didn’t need information on her. He already knew she was near. “I appreciate that. But you’ve seen no one thus far? Heard no rumors?”

  “The only rumors around here are of monsters in the cemetery and strange howls from outside of town. But for high-falutin’ travelers?”

  Maisy tried not to look interested. Strange howls? That was new.

  Delaney shrugged. “Of course, the town has newcomers all the time and may soon rival Dallas in its population, but those I’ve seen have been as expected. Near everyone who crosses the threshold of the steam engine that brought them here has left more luxury behind than they’re like to find here.”

  Maisy was about to agree when the bell over the door rang, and Maisy gave Delaney the space to do her business. Instead of turning to see who had entered, she investigated the workings of a small clock on the counter. The Swiss mechanism inside was fascinating.

  “Miss Clark?” Maisy was shocked when she glanced up at the shopkeeper and found a pistol directed at her face.

  Oh piddle. She had just begun to like Delaney.

  Chapter Three

  The Lace and Steam Shop

  Fort Worth, Texas

  “Duck!” Delaney whispered.

  Maisy tucked in and moved to the right, out of the line of fire, and pulled a knife from her corset.

  She expected the crack of a gunshot, but a whistling sound and a heavy thump was all she heard.

  “He should be out,” Delaney said.

  Maisy straightened and looked around as Delaney came around the counter. On the floor by the door, a man lay in a slumped heap, covered in a large bolt of fabric. Maisy held the knife at the ready, and Delaney pointed the pistol—which Maisy could now see had been altered with a heavier grip and a larger barrel—at the lump on the floor. He wore cowboy boots, which were pointed upward, and dark denim britches, but the fabric hid the rest of him. He must have grabbed the bolt when he fell.

  At least, Maisy assumed it was a he. Though she was fond of wearing boots, she hadn’t seen many other women doing the same.

  “What kind of gun is that?” Maisy asked as she kicked the boots.

  “It’s a tranquilizer dart. I don’t like using guns in the shop. The blood splatters onto the fabrics.”

  What a sensible woman. But how often did Delaney have need to shoot someone in her store? Maisy would have smiled, but she thought Delaney might misread her reaction. So she reached down and picked up the bolt, never loosening the defensive hold she had on the knife in case the fellow chose to move. “I must have one of those.” It would come in most handy when Maisy had to ambush someone with guards. Gunshots were never silent unless one buffered them with a pillow, which simply wasn’t handy to carry around when one was climbing on fences and roofs.

  Delaney peered down as Maisy carefully pulled the fabric away. It had unwound in the fall, and some sections were trapped beneath his arms.

  “So was he stealing?”

  Delaney humphed. “No, but he had been watching you from behind the fabric, and I noticed a gun in his hand. Better safe than dead, I always say.”

  Maisy grinned. Her admiration for Delaney grew by the moment. She pulled the last of the fabric away. His hat still covered his face, but he was free of the bolt of calico cotton.

  The figure moaned and Delaney jumped back, holding the gun as if she were ready to shoot off another dart.

  “Hold on,” Maisy said. She kn
ocked off the man’s hat with her boot.

  His eyes fluttered open, and he glared at her. “What in the hell have you done to me this time?” Calloway asked seconds before he passed out again.

  Delaney gasped and dropped her arm. Her face paled. “I’ve shot the marshal.”

  Despite herself, Maisy had to laugh. What had she done to him this time? That meant he remembered something about last night. And that meant trouble had found her again.

  Delaney’s brow creased in a look of dismay. “How can you laugh at a time like this? I’m going to jail. Oh, Pa would be so disappointed in me right now. We MacAlisters just have no luck when it comes to staying out of prison.”

  The door opened, narrowly missing Calloway’s head, and Maisy tugged on his leg to slide him away. The wood floor hadn’t been waxed in a while, so he didn’t move far. Barnes’ head popped through the doorway. “Miss, are you ready?” He stared down at Calloway. “You have to stop shooting this poor man. You’re going to cause him permanent brain damage.”

  “Why does everyone assume it was I who shot him?” It was a rhetorical question the butler didn’t bother to answer.

  “I shot the marshal,” Delaney said again. She still sounded shocked.

  Maisy patted her shoulder. “You tell him I did it. I promise he will believe you.”

  “Oh, no. I couldn’t get you in trouble like that,” she said earnestly.

  Barnes snickered. “The mistress stays in trouble,” he said as he maneuvered his way into the store, careful not to step on Calloway any more than necessary.

  “He’s right,” Maisy said. “When he wakes up, simply tell him it was me. I don’t mind at all.”

  Delaney only stared in response.

  “Yes, well. Barnes, would you be so kind as to move Mr. Calloway to a less conspicuous spot? Miss O’Sullivans’ clientele will have a difficult time entering the shop if the marshal is in the way. Isn’t it just like a man to be lying about when there is work to be done?”

  The Iron Witch

  Dusk

  What have you done to me this time? The words played over and over in her head as Maisy checked the blood samples again. One experiment after another had failed and her temper grew short as the day wore on.