The Watchmaker's Daughter (Glass and Steele Book 1)

by C. J. Archer

  "No."

  Her coolness toward me was beginning to grate on my nerves as well as worry me. I decided to confront her on it. "I do hope you don't believe the rumors Mr. Lawson, Eddie and the others are spreading about Mr. Glass and me. I can assure you, our arrangement is decent and correct." I just thought of something that might get her to think differently. "He's the nephew of Lord Rycroft."

  "He's a lord!" Catherine half rose out of her seat in excitement.

  "No, just a mister. His uncle is the current baron."

  Both Mrs. Mason and Catherine pressed their hands to their chests, as if trying to still rapid heartbeats. "He's a gentleman of quality then," Mrs. Mason said, her face lifting. "How kind that he's taken you in, India."

  My smile tightened. "Very kind."

  "Don't allow your head to be turned, though," she warned. "Nobility is all well and good, but he's a man underneath it all. Mark my words, India, high born men are not very different from low born men when it comes to it."

  "Mama! You're frightening her."

  I laughed. "Not at all. Thank you for your concern, Mrs. Mason, but I am in no danger from Mr. Glass." It was time to change the subject. Being lectured wasn't something I was used to, or liked. Father had never been one to do so after my mother died. "Mr. Glass had other errands to run today, but we hope to resume our search for Mirth and the watchmaker tomorrow and discover if they are one and the same."

  "On a Sunday?" Mrs. Mason said. "The shops will be closed, and I don't recommend you visit anyone at home."

  "Why not?" Most watchmakers lived above their shops or nearby. I knew where to find many of their homes.

  "I don't think it's a good idea."

  "Mr. Glass leaves on Tuesday, so we need to use all the time left to us."

  "Tuesday? Good."

  "Why?" both Catherine and I asked.

  Mrs. Mason shrugged and glanced at the door. She looked like she wanted to escape but didn't want to leave either. Perhaps she didn't want to leave me alone with Catherine. She was afraid of me too.

  The notion opened a well inside me that filled with an ache. "Mrs. Mason," I ventured, "why have you changed toward me? What have I done to deserve this…coolness I'm confronted with at every turn?" I managed to keep the wobble out of my voice until the end.

  "Nothing," Catherine said brightly. "No one is cool toward you. Are they, Mama?"

  But Mrs. Mason didn't answer. She set down her cup and buried her hands in her apron.

  "Mama?" Catherine shifted forward on her seat and glanced nervously at me.

  "Mrs. Mason?" I prompted. "Please."

  "I don't know anything," she said, sounding wretched. She was an honest, good woman with a kind heart. So what was stopping her from being open with me? "Mr. Mason was urged not to help you find the watchmaker, that's all. Not that he can! He doesn't know of anyone fitting the fellow's description, and nor do I."

  "But you were warned, nevertheless," I said, sitting back heavily. "By whom?"

  Catherine gasped. "That's why Papa has received so many callers of late. Several guild members have visited him in the last two days," she told me. "We never usually see them, as Papa isn't particularly friendly with them, so it's been quite noticeable."

  "Some of the more senior members have paid calls," Mrs. Mason clarified.

  "Led by Abercrombie," I muttered.

  "He hasn't been here himself," she said.

  But he was most likely behind the visits. "Why does he dislike me so much?"

  Catherine set her cup down and crouched before me. Her sweet face was full of earnestness. "I've never liked him. He's an upstart and a…a toad, and he thinks women are beneath him. He's afraid of your skill as a watchmaker, that's my theory. Afraid of seeing a woman surpass him." She looked to her mother. "Do you agree, Mama?"

  "I do," she said with an emphatic nod and a sigh of relief. Why would she be relieved by such an explanation?

  Unless it wasn't the entire explanation, yet it meant not having to give me the other, more troubling one.

  Part of me wanted to push her to tell me, but I suppressed the urge. I didn't want to place her in an awkward position.

  "My presence here is making things difficult for you," I said, rising. "I'll leave."

  "No, please stay longer," Catherine urged.

  Her mother, however, rose too. "It was lovely seeing you again, India. Do take care." She set about gathering the dishes, ignoring her daughter's narrow-eyed glare.

  I took Catherine's hand and led her to the front door. "You've been very kind, Catherine, but I won't visit for some time. I don't want to trouble your parents any more than I have."

  "Don't mind Mama." She lowered her voice. "Mr. Abercrombie and the guild frighten her. She's not strong like you or me."

  "And your father? Do they frighten him too?"

  "He must do as they say or risk censure."

  "Yes, of course. You're right." It was selfish of me not to think about the predicament the Masons were in. Whatever reason they had for being wary of me, explaining might get them into further trouble with the guild. Trouble they could ill afford with an organization that held such power over their livelihood. I needed to find another way to find the answers. I had an idea. "I wish I could give Mr. Abercrombie and the other Court members a piece of my mind. Do you know when they next meet?"

  Her eyes bulged. "You're not considering going, are you?"

  "Why not?"

  "Because…it's madness! They'll all be against you, and…and it would be awful."

  "On the contrary. I might finally get some answers. Besides, what can they do to me now? They've kept me from becoming a member, warned their members not to employ me, and almost had me arrested for a crime I didn't commit. They've used their power to rob me of my home and my livelihood. As I see it, I have nothing more to lose. They cannot possibly take anything else from me, as I have nothing to take."

  Her lower lip wobbled and she threw herself into my arms. "Oh, India, you are the bravest soul." Her voice shook and I felt a wet tear fall onto my neck. "I wish I could do more to help you, but I feel so useless."

  I hugged her and patted her back. "You're doing more than enough simply by remaining my true friend. Besides, you can help me. You can tell me when the guild next meets."

  She pulled away and wiped her cheeks with her thumb. For a long moment, I thought she wouldn't answer me, then she said, "I overheard Papa tell Mama it's tonight at seven o'clock."

  I spent the afternoon looking for employment and suitable accommodation but my mind was on the task I'd set for myself that night. I would confront the guild members about their changed attitude toward me and see if the reason behind it was merely their resentment of my gender or something more. I would also ask them about Mr. Mirth. That way, Mr. Glass could come along. While I didn't think they'd use force to throw me out, it would nevertheless give me more confidence to have him at my side.

  My distracted mind was probably the reason I was unsuccessful in securing new employment. I did, however, find clean and comfortable rooms to let on the second floor of a modest Bloomsbury house. The landlady was a widow of the late curator of the British Museum's medieval collection and seemed relieved to have a female applicant. I promised to deliver references before Tuesday. I didn't tell her that my employer would leave London that day and I had nothing further lined up.

  It was a mere forty minute walk back to Park Street, but a sudden burst of rain forced me to make an unscheduled stop beneath the butcher's awning at the Circus end of Oxford Street. I waited with several shoppers who'd also been caught without umbrellas, much to the butcher's annoyance. He huffed and puffed in the doorway but fortunately didn't force anyone to move on.

  "Miss Steele?" The voice behind me was familiar, yet I couldn't quite place it.

  I turned, and drew in a sharp breath. "Mr. Dorchester! What a coincidence." The fellow from the gambling house looked fairer in daylight; his eyes bluer. They turned his rather ordinary face
into something remarkable. I couldn't look away.

  He smiled and doffed his hat. "It certainly is. I see you've been caught without an umbrella."

  "I have, and the rain looks set in for the day."

  "Then allow me." He handed me his folded umbrella.

  "No, I couldn't possibly take it."

  "Then may I walk you home and we can share it? It's large enough."

  It wasn't far to Park Street. Besides, Mr. Dorchester was an amiable fellow and having some company might take my mind off the guild meeting.

  "Thank you, I accept, as long as Park Street isn't out of your way."

  "Not at all. I was on my way home anyway."

  "Is that nearby?"

  "This side of Piccadilly Street, so not far."

  We stepped out of the milling crowd, and he put up his umbrella. Our arms touched as we walked so that neither of us got too wet.

  "I must say, I'm glad to see you," he said as we passed shoppers hurrying to get out of the rain. "I was worried about you."

  "Oh, thank you, but we were fine." Thanks largely to my aim.

  "Nevertheless, I didn't like leaving you there, but Mr. Unger assured me you wouldn't come to harm. If he hadn't promised, I would have insisted on staying."

  I didn't tell him that Mr. Unger and the other gamblers hadn't been any assistance at all when we'd been attacked. The incident was in the past, and I saw no reason to let Mr. Dorchester feel terrible for leaving us there.

  "Did your friend win after I left?"

  "She lost quite badly."

  "That's a shame. It doesn't look like a game for the faint of heart. All that bluffing…I'm not sure I have the right countenance for it."

  "And what countenance do you think is required of a good poker player?"

  "The ability to lie with a straight face."

  I laughed. "I quite agree. It's not a game for me. My father used to tell me that my thoughts were written all over my face."

  "Your father is a wise fellow."

  I didn't tell him my father should be mentioned in the past tense. I was still very aware that Mr. Dorchester was a man and I a single woman alone. Allowing him to think there was no man to care for me might give him ideas similar to those the horrible lords in the gambling house had. Although I couldn't imagine Mr. Dorchester being like them, it never hurt to be cautious.

  We maneuvered around a large puddle as we crossed New Bond Street then fell into step once again. Our pace and stride matched, but I couldn't tell if that was a deliberate effort on his part.

  "Tell me about your factory, Mr. Dorchester."

  He frowned. "You cannot possibly be interested in that."

  "I'm sure it's very interesting."

  "Thank you, but I won't bore you with the details. Tell me about yourself."

  I provided him with the briefest summary, once again avoiding mentioning my father's death. "I'm staying with Willie and her friends, newly arrived from America," I told him. "But only until they leave on Tuesday."

  "How does a watchmaker's daughter make friends from so far afield?"

  "We met through an acquaintance." Eddie could be considered an acquaintance of both Mr. Glass's and mine, so it wasn't a lie.

  We talked the entire way back to Park Street, mostly about the sights he'd seen since arriving in London a few days before. He'd combined a sightseeing journey with a visit to his lawyer's office, but was only in the city for a few more days. I told him which coffee shops had the best coffee, and where he could find the best silks as gifts for his mother and sister back home. That steered us onto the subject of his family. Unlike me, he was quite keen to talk about them. His eyes lit up even more as he did so. By the time we reached Park Street, I was regretting parting company with him.

  "This is me," I said, stopping at the steps of number sixteen. I smiled up at him. "Thank you for walking with me. It was very kind of you to offer me refuge beneath your umbrella."

  He chuckled softly. "The pleasure was all mine." He glanced past me to the door. "I am glad you emerged safely from that ruckus last night, Miss Steele. I was terribly worried about you after I left, asking myself if I'd done the right thing in leaving you there."

  Something he said sparked a memory, but I couldn't place what it was. Perhaps it was merely the horrid memory of the night before.

  "May I be so bold as to ask you something?" he said.

  "Of course." My heart skipped, but I wasn't sure why. If Mr. Dorchester asked to see me again, I wasn't sure what I'd do. Did I want to see him? Did I want to get to know him further? I supposed it couldn't hurt.

  "Will you be at church tomorrow?" he said.

  "Yes, of course. Why?"

  "Because I'd like to know which one to attend in order to see you again."

  I laughed and bowed my head to hide my blush. "I believe Grosvenor Chapel is the nearest."

  "Then I hope to see you in the morning." He walked me up the steps and deposited me at the door. "I'm glad I bumped into you, Miss Steele."

  "So am I," I said. "I'd be thoroughly wet otherwise."

  He laughed, but I winced on the inside. I'd made it sound like I'd used him for his umbrella. I had enjoyed our walk together, but not in that way, I realized. Not in the same way I enjoyed Mr. Glass's company. It was like comparing chocolate and apples. Both tasted good, yet one was a decadent experience to be savored, and the other something that could be found in every grocer's cart on every corner. I liked both, but I would always choose chocolate over an apple.

  "I hope I haven't caused you any trouble," he said.

  "Not at all."

  "It's just that you have an observer." He nodded at the window. The curtain fluttered, but not before I saw Miss Glass's face disappear from sight.

  I smiled. "Goodbye, Mr. Dorchester. And thank you again."

  I slipped inside and shut the door. I'd barely removed one arm from my coat when Miss Glass emerged from the entrance to the sitting room.

  "Who was that, dear?" she asked.

  "An acquaintance by the name of Dorchester."

  "I don't know any Dorchesters."

  "He's from Manchester."

  "Manchester!" She wrinkled her nose. "What's he doing in London?"

  "Visiting."

  "From Manchester?" she said, incredulous.

  "It's hardly the other side of the world."

  "It might as well be. Those accents." She shuddered. "It's like listening to glass break."

  "His accent is quite refined. I didn't detect a hint of Mancunian."

  She sniffed and I thought that the end of it, but she followed me all the way to the kitchen. I fetched bread, cheese and plum jam from the pantry and set them out on the table.

  "Have you eaten?" I asked.

  "Picket fixed me something earlier." She sat at the stool and watched me spread jam on a slice of bread. "He's not particularly handsome."

  "Are we still discussing Mr. Dorchester?"

  "He's rather short too, and he had a way of walking that I didn't like."

  I pressed my lips together to suppress my smile. "Perhaps they walk differently in Manchester."

  "I suppose he's in trade."

  "He has a factory."

  She clicked her tongue and picked at the cheese I sliced off the wedge but didn't eat it. "You can do better than an ugly factory worker from Manchester."

  "You forgot his odd walking style."

  "This is not a joke, India."

  I set down the knife with a sigh. "I appreciate your concern, but there's no need. I'm not considering Mr. Dorchester as a suitor."

  "You may not be, but he might be considering you. Sometimes men—I won't refer to him as a gentleman, since I don't know his connections—can be difficult to remove once they latch onto you. I've seen very eligible girls swept up by a romantic gesture from a man who is not at all suitable."

  I was about to protest that I wasn't susceptible to romantic gestures, but past experience showed that to be false. While Eddie hadn't shou
ted his love for me from a rooftop, he had given me flowers and trinkets on a regular basis and been attentive from the start.

  I stuffed my mouth full of bread and jam, to avoid answering, and hoped Miss Glass would leave the topic of Mr. Dorchester alone. Unfortunately, she was only getting started and proceeded to warn me about the dangers of a woman alone in the world and men of unknown connections. The only way I could see to stop her was to tell her that I'd learned my lesson from Eddie. Thankfully Willie walked in, distracting Miss Glass. I'd never been so pleased to see her, even though she wore an ominously thunderous expression.

  "Bread?" I offered. "Cheese?"

  "God, yes." Willie descended on the table like a hawk on a field mouse. "I'm half starved."

  I handed her a slice of bread with jam and hoped it would be enough to chase her black mood away. She bit into it, tearing off a chunk with her teeth like a lion ripping apart a poor creature it had just caught.

  "Don't see you down here much," she said to Miss Glass around her mouthful. Miss Glass looked horrified, which I suspected was Willie's intention. "That Polly girl not feeding you?"

  "Picket takes good care of me, thank you."

  "Why do you call her by her last name?"

  "It's the way things are done here. I don't expect anyone from an American backwater to understand."

  "Miss Glass wanted to talk to me about Mr. Dorchester," I said quickly, before Willie's temper had a chance to flare. "He escorted me home just now."

  "Who?"

  "The man from the poker game last night. The one who punched Lord Dennison."

  "Punched!" Miss Glass's hand fluttered at her black lace collar. "I knew he was no good."

  "He defended me," I said.

  "Tosh. He's a Dorchester from Manchester. It even sounds ridiculous."

  Willie snorted. "That it does."

  I couldn't help smiling, even though I wanted to defend him. "That's not the point. He was kind to me, and I like him, but not in that way," I assured Miss Glass. "Nor will I be seduced by romantic gestures, if he performs any. It takes more than trinkets and promises to intrigue me now."