by C. J. Archer
Duke left, chuckling, and Willie served the tea. The small smile on her lips suddenly faded and she straightened, even though she hadn't finished filling the second cup. Tea spilled onto the saucer from the spout.
"What does he mean, prepare a room?" she asked.
"Miss Steele is without lodgings at present," Mr. Glass said. "I offered her a room here until our business is concluded and we leave London."
She glared at him then turned that glare onto me. "Did you force him into this?"
"No!" I protested, eyeing the teapot. Her white knuckled grip on the handle looked ominous. It wouldn't surprise me if she used it as a weapon.
"You're a dang fool, Matt." She thrust the teapot in his direction, causing the tea to slosh around inside. "A chit bats her eyelashes and flashes her puppies and you're falling over yourself to help her."
Mr. Glass's nostrils flared. "Don't," he growled.
"Well, it's true." Willie sniffed, but some of the wind had been knocked out of her sails. "Even more true when she's all helpless, like Missy here."
"Excuse me," I said, rising. I wasn't tall, but I was taller than Willie. Unfortunately, my superior height didn't concern her. She watched me with an air of amusement, as if she thought my attempt at intimidation was laughable. "First of all, I am not helpless. While I may be without steady employment or accommodation, I can assure you that it's only temporary. Secondly, I didn't flash anything at Mr. Glass. And batting eyelashes is ridiculous. No self-respecting woman would do it."
Willie smirked. "Seems we agree on something."
"I'll finish pouring the tea," Mr. Glass said. "You may go."
Willie folded her arms and sat heavily on the sofa. She sprawled on it with her legs apart, as if she were trying to take up as much space as possible. Considering I'd been sitting on it, I suspected her aim was to force me to move. I squashed myself into the corner, my skirts brushing her knee as I did so.
"I'm staying here," she announced. "You might need saving from her."
"Willie," he growled. "Get out or I'll cut your allowance in half."
She sat forward, hands on her knees, then pushed herself up. "No need to be so mean. I'm only looking out for you, like you done for me so many times."
He sighed and dragged his hand through his hair. It was the most harried I'd seen him all day, and considering what a day it had been, that was quite surprising. "I know, Willie. But right now, I need to speak with Miss Steele. We've got work to do, and I'd rather not waste another minute."
Willie bit her lip then suddenly threw her arms around her cousin. The sudden burst of emotion surprised him as much as me. His brows rose and he took several seconds before he gingerly patted her shoulder as if she were a dangerous animal he wasn't sure how to pet.
"I'll be helping Duke if you need me," she said, pulling away from him.
"Try not to pick a fight with him."
"I will if he will."
Mr. Glass sighed as she walked out of the drawing room.
"She's quite a little whirlwind," I said.
"More like a tornado." But he smiled as he picked up the teapot and continued pouring. "I am sorry for her behavior, Miss Steele. Willie is…difficult."
"She's certainly a unique character."
"Her upbringing wasn't ideal for a young woman. I didn't meet her until we were both fifteen, and by then, it was too late. She was already set in her ways."
"She's been dressing like a man since before she was fifteen?" While Willie's age was difficult to gauge, I gathered Mr. Glass to be in his late twenties when he was in good health. Earlier, before he'd gone upstairs, he'd looked much older.
"She has, and acting like a man, too."
"Why?"
He handed me the teacup but didn't meet my gaze. "She found it's easier to be a temperamental, foul-mouthed man than a temperamental, foul-mouthed woman."
I sipped my tea and set aside thoughts of Willie. They were replaced with thoughts of my new employer and his remarkable recovery. He couldn't have slept in the brief time we were apart, so his restored health must be due to the glowing watch.
"I'm glad to see you looking much better," I said. "I didn't expect you to be up and about for some time. You looked very ill earlier." If he didn't tell me about the watch now then he must certainly want to keep it a secret.
"I keep a tonic in my room," he said, his gaze holding mine. "A little swig and I'm cured." He smiled easily. If I hadn't seen the scene with the watch, I would have been completely taken in by his charming manner. "I know it's not my affair," he continued, sitting down in an armchair opposite me, "but since I'm a sort of accomplice, I'd like to know what that business with Abercrombie was about. You claimed not to know why he accused you of theft, but surely there must be a reason."
"I don't know. Truly, I don't. The whole episode was very strange and troubling. Father never liked him, I do know that. He called Abercrombie a pompous prig, full of self-importance. Abercrombie's quite rich, you see, and wields a great deal of influence in the Watchmakers’ Guild as its master."
"What is this guild?"
"It's one of several craft guilds that have been in operation for centuries here in England. The official title is the Worshipful Company of Watchmakers, but no one calls them that nowadays. There's an Engineers’ Guild, a Tailors’ Guild, a Carpenters’ Guild, a Jewelers’ Guild and dozens of others. Everyone who creates something and sells that creation must belong to a company. It's the law. No membership, no license to sell. Don't you have them in America?"
"There are organizations in different states, but they're not as controlling. Is the guild's only function to determine who can and can't sell their goods?"
"They also take care of the widows and families of deceased members with hardship funds, and issue awards for quality workmanship. A member is only eligible for the award if he enters, of course, and there's a fee for entry, but the winners' names are published in all the major newspapers and journals. The custom that generates can be enormous."
"Who decides on a winner?"
"The guild master and other members elected to the committee, which is known as the Court of Assistants. It may not surprise you to learn that Mr. Abercrombie has won both the Best Watch and Best Clock award for the last three years."
"Did he cheat?"
"He probably bought votes or made threats."
"Is that why your father disliked him?"
"One of the reasons." I swirled the tea slowly around my cup and tried to suppress the well of despair that always threatened to spill over whenever I thought about Father, the guild, and losing our shop to Eddie. "When Father became ill, he encouraged me to apply for membership. He knew that in order to keep the shop operating on my own, after his death, I would have to belong to the guild. They refused my application."
"Did you have the necessary qualifications?"
"Of course. I'd been Father's apprentice for years. The entry test requires the applicant to disassemble a watch mechanism and put it back together again. It's very simple, and I would have passed easily, but I wasn't given the opportunity. They threw out my application without even considering it."
"Why?"
"Because I'm female."
He considered this with a frown. "But I've seen female shopkeepers here who I'm sure make their own wares—dressmakers, jewelers, milliners. Don't they need to belong to their respective guilds too?"
"They do, but their companies allow women. The Watchmakers' Guild doesn't."
"Why not?"
"You ought to ask them. It's ridiculous. I'm an excellent watchmaker, but they seem to think I would make an inferior product and devalue their reputation." It still made my blood boil to think about it. Their logic was flawed and archaic, but there was nothing I could do. An overhaul of their bylaws could only be started if all members agreed to a vote.
"Ah. I see, now," he said.
"See what?"
"Why your father left the shop to Hardacre. He must have seen
it as the only way to keep the shop for you, assuming you would soon marry him."
"Except that we didn't marry," I bit off. "Eddie tricked Father, and me too." I would never be tricked again by a two-faced, lying little turd.
"He must have been quite believable," he said quietly.
"He was, but it doesn't excuse my own blindness." The truth was, I'd wanted to believe that Eddie loved me. I was twenty-seven and had never known the affections of a man. A year ago, I'd given up hope of marriage and embraced spinsterhood. And then Eddie breezed into my life with his easy smiles, handsome face, and eagerness to please. Nothing was too much trouble or too dull, from accompanying me to the market to watching me fix a clock in the workroom.
Yet he'd never laughed at the jokes I laughed at. I should have taken that as a sign that he wasn't for me, at the very least. A lifetime without laughter would have been sheer drudgery. It was a testament to my desperation that I agreed to marry him, despite his lack of humor.
Mr. Glass set his teacup down and shifted in his chair. The silence stretched uncomfortably, and I wished we hadn't raised the subject of Eddie at all. I concentrated on sipping my tea until finally Mr. Glass spoke.
"Does the Watchmakers' Guild keep records of previous members?"
"I suppose so, but I'm not sure how helpful their register would be in finding your watchmaker when you don't know his name. I think we can be quite sure it isn't Chronos."
"Agreed." He sighed. "Shall we discuss the route we'll take this afternoon?" He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and moved his teacup aside to make space on the table. The paper turned out to be a map of London.
"Are you sure you're up to going out again this afternoon?" I asked.
His shoulders tensed. "Of course. There's nothing wrong with me."
"But—"
"The map, Miss Steele. Please point out where you think we should go next."
I sighed and studied the map. "We'll try the area south of Hyde Park and over to Westminster," I said, drawing a circle with my finger around the area. "That should be enough for today."
"Out of the way of Oxford Street," he said with a nod of agreement.
"Yes," I said quietly. "Well away."
"We'll stop by the Masons' and retrieve your belongings while we're out."
"And mention the trouble Mr. Abercrombie is trying to stir up. I couldn't bear it if they heard the rumors from another source first, or if Mr. Abercrombie approached them looking for me."
"He won't pursue the matter." He folded the map and returned it to his pocket.
"You can't be sure of that."
He gave me a crooked smile that was full of mischief and mystery. "Yes, I can."
The afternoon's visits brought us no closer to finding Mr. Glass's watchmaker. Fortunately, I was neither attacked nor snubbed, although that could have been because I remained in the carriage most of the time. I only got out at Mr. Healy's shop, to stretch my legs and see how he fared. He'd been a good friend to Father and kind to me on the day of the funeral. I wanted him to know that I was well. I was relieved when he greeted me with a smile.
We stopped at the Masons' home in the late afternoon, and Mrs. Mason welcomed us with a cup of tea and slices of walnut cake. "Gareth, take this to your Papa and brother in the shop," she said, handing her son a tray laden with teapot and cake.
Gareth disappeared and a few minutes later, Mr. Mason returned alone, carrying his teacup. He greeted us with strained smiles and shook Mr. Glass's hand.
"Any success?" he asked.
"Not yet," Mr. Glass said. I was glad to see that he wasn't overset with tiredness this afternoon. He looked quite well. "But Miss Steele assures me we've only scratched the surface. I had no idea London was so large."
"It's Europe's grandest city," Mr. Mason said with a puff of his chest.
"Aside from Paris," Catherine said dreamily. "I do so wish to see Paris one day, don't you, India?"
"I've never thought about it before," I said. "I suppose so, but I doubt I'll ever leave London. I only speak English, for one thing, nor do I know anyone outside this city."
Catherine huffed out a small breath. "You're so conventional all the time."
I blinked at her. By conventional, I suspected she meant dull. Was that how she saw me? As a prim spinster with no dreams, no ambitions or hopes? Was that how everyone saw me?
"Paris is indeed a beautiful city." Mr. Glass's rich, deep voice broke into my self-centered thoughts.
"You've been there?" Catherine leaned forward, her teacup pausing on its way to her lips.
"I lived there, many years ago."
"How thrilling."
"That's enough, Catherine," Mr. Mason chided. "Mr. Glass has more important things to discuss than your flights of fancy. Paris is not for the likes of you."
Catherine slouched back against her chair with a pout. I gave her a sympathetic smile, but she looked away.
The conversation stalled, so I decided to get to the point of our visit. "Mr. Glass has offered me lodgings in his house," I told the Masons. "I've come to collect my things."
Catherine's jaw dropped but she quickly recovered. "Marvelous! Come upstairs and we'll fetch them together."
Mrs. Mason tsk tsked. "I'm sure the arrangement is all very respectable," she said, "but I feel I must protest. What will people think?"
"India knows what she's doing," Mr. Mason said quickly. "Don't fret, my dear."
His wife glared at him. He sipped his tea.
"They won't think anything, because nobody I know will find out," I said hotly. "Even if they do, does it matter? My future is already ruined. Eddie saw to that. A little scandal won't taint me further."
Mrs. Mason humphed and bustled about, collecting teacups and plates, her cheeks pink. No doubt she was contemplating all sorts of lurid scenarios involving Mr. Glass and myself. They were probably similar to the ones I'd contemplated myself, particularly after the corset incident. Sometimes my skin still felt as if it bore the impressions of his hands.
"I understand your concerns," Mr. Glass said. "And I'm glad Miss Steele has good friends in you both. But rest assured, my cousin, Miss Willemina Johnson, is staying with me and will act as chaperone. She's a respectable, responsible woman of high moral character and will insure that Miss Steele is treated with courtesy at all times. Miss Steele, would you say my description of Willie is accurate, based on your first impressions?"
They all looked to me. Fortunately my cheeks no longer felt hot, but I had a devil of a time keeping a straight face. Willie probably would have fallen over with laughter herself if she'd heard her cousin's description. "She's all that and more," I assured the Masons. "She's very sweet and kind."
Mr. Glass smiled at me. Hopefully I was the only one who noticed the wicked gleam in his eyes.
"I intend to look for more permanent lodgings and employment in the coming days," I said. "I don't want to burden your good selves any further."
"You're no burden, India," Catherine said, touching my knee.
"Not at all," Mrs. Mason said, after an awkward moment. Her husband sipped his tea.
"That's settled then," Catherine said, standing. "Come, India, let's get your things."
Up in her room, she helped me pack while I told her that the hem of my dress had come down so Willie had loaned me one of hers until I could repair it later. She hardly seemed to be listening.
"He's so lovely," she eventually said, closing my valise and fixing the clasp in place.
"Mr. Glass? I hadn't noticed."
"Tosh! Of course you have. And to think, you're going to stay with him in his house. What an opportunity!"
"I know what you're referring to, Catherine, and I think you've gone mad. I am not going to throw myself at Mr. Glass."
"Perhaps he'll throw himself at you."
That had us both laughing until we collapsed on the bed, out of breath.
Once recovered, we headed back down to the parlor with my valise. I touched C
atherine's hand before we went in, wanting some sort of reassurance from a person I knew and trusted. Despite our laughter, I was anxious about staying in Mr. Glass's house. He and the other members of his household were nothing like us. They were bold and brash, and they talked about holsters and…pups. They could be outlaws. I could be walking into something too deep to dig myself out of.
Catherine squeezed my hand in sympathy, although she didn't know the real reason behind my anxiety. She must think me nervous about the possibility of ravishment.
Catherine and her parents walked us to the door. I hugged each of them in turn and promised to see them again soon. All except Mr. Mason hugged me enthusiastically. "One other thing," I said before we left. "Has Mr. Abercrombie been here asking after me?"
"Miss Steele, there's no need," Mr. Glass said with a hard glare and shake of his head. "It'll be taken care of by the morning."
"Abercrombie?" Mr. Mason said. "No. Why?"
"It's of no consequence," Mr. Glass cut in.
"Actually, it is," I said. "He tried to have me arrested for theft."
"Good lord!" Mrs. Mason pressed her apron hem to her chin. "That's awful."
I briefly explained the event and assured them I hadn't stolen anything from him. "I just wanted you to know from me before you heard it from someone else." Although Mr. Glass had assured me everything would be taken care of, I couldn't see how. I needed to protect myself, and that meant involving the Masons.
"Of course, of course." Mr. Mason nodded excessively, which only set his jowls off like a bowl of jelly. He looked quite worried, and that had me worried.
"If Abercrombie does come here looking for you, we won't tell him where you've gone," his wife said.
I smiled at her and tried to catch her husband's eye but he wasn't looking at me. "Thank you."
Mr. Glass stored my valise at the back of the coach while I climbed inside. He climbed in after me and the coach lurched forward.
"It wasn't necessary to mention the incident with Abercrombie," he said. "I will see that he doesn't trouble you again."
"I don't see how you can do that. Perhaps if you shared how you would see to it, I might have more faith."