Beauty and the Clockwork Beast

by Nancy Allen Campbell

  Oliver Reed returned from London and remained at the manor for several more days, and, at Blackwell’s request, she’d told Mr. Reed everything she remembered about the night of the vampire attack while he listened carefully and scribbled in his notebook. They played short games of checkers and longer games of chess. The two men taught her to play poker and vingt-et-un, showing remorse for having done so only after she began to beat them.

  Each evening when her eyelids grew heavy, Blackwell waited until she changed in the dressing room and then tucked her into bed as one would a child. The more she found her health returning, the less childlike she felt around him. She knew their private cocoon of pleasant time spent together was drawing to a close when he started shoving his hands in his pockets and backing his way to the door before bidding her good night.

  One week melted into two, and Lucy grew restless at being confined, despite her enjoyment of Blackwell’s company. When her energy was nearly at full strength, she began visiting with the rest of the household, catching up on gossip and delighting over Kate’s improved health. The Charlesworths’ ball was still three weeks away, and Kate had been thrilled when Lucy agreed to remain at the manor and travel with them northward for the celebration.

  Lucy and Kate spent a fair amount of time in Marie’s garden with Mr. Clancy, who seemed to be taking a grudging liking to the cousins and their work in restoring the garden. Now instead of grunting and scowling at Lucy, he only grunted. He was on hand to help and always had the ’tons fully charged and ready.

  The work progressed beautifully as Marie’s sanctuary took shape before the onset of winter. The air developed a decided nip, and flurries of snow drifted and threatened but had yet to fall in earnest. The air was filled with the sharp yet pleasant smell of burning sticks and weeds, and Lucy relished each sensation, grateful to feel alive again. Mr. Clancy still insisted that the gazebo remain untouched, and Lucy respected his wishes even while wondering if he would ever acquiesce and give her a pair of pruners.

  The relatives eventually left to return home and ready Charlesworth House for the upcoming ball. The entirety of Blackwell Manor, it seemed, breathed a collective sigh of relief. Oliver Reed also took his leave, his work requiring him to return to London; he would meet up with them later at the ball. Lucy had found the detective’s dry sense of humor delightful and missed him when he left.

  There were no more visits from ghosts or attacks from vampires. If what Hazel Hughes had said was true, Marie would have to know that Lucy wasn’t in any condition to help her after the vampire attack, which, she assumed, was the reason for the ghost’s absence. Miss Hughes herself was reportedly doing well in London and was nearly healed from her injuries.

  While Lucy regretted the attack on Miss Hughes, she was grateful that she now better understood the nature of ghosts. They had also learned, interestingly enough, that Miss Hughes did possess some sort of gift, which Lucy hoped might bring the young woman a measure of peace with her meddling mother.

  Life at the manor settled into a comfortable, albeit temporary, routine.

  One late afternoon she came upon Blackwell in his suite’s sitting room, going over some papers. He sat with his arms braced on his knees and his head dipped down in what she could only read as defeat, which she found disquieting. She approached from behind, catching a glimpse of the small note he held tightly in his fingers. I know your secret, the note read, and it stopped Lucy cold. Standing behind him, she wondered if she should make her presence known or try to sneak back out.

  The decision was made for her when Blackwell suddenly turned his head. “You ought to announce yourself.”

  Rather than take offense, she circled the sofa and sat next to him, watching as he pulled his anger and cynicism back over his features.

  He couldn’t hide entirely, however; it was in his eyes. He was agitated, clearly, but beyond that she read fear. Despair.

  “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  He closed his eyes. “No,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. He set the papers on the coffee table facedown. The small note she’d seen was underneath the stack. “You should leave. Leave this place.”

  Her heart twisted. “I plan to, soon. Kate seems to be on the mend, and after the ball, I shall return to London.”

  Blackwell raised his head, those expressive eyes showing a fraction of regret for a moment. He nodded. “It is for the best.”

  What had she expected? That he would beg her to stay? And why did she care? She’d known the man less than a month, and during that time, she’d given him a ridiculous amount of inconvenience. He looked incredibly exhausted. If only he hadn’t seemed so vulnerable, she might have been able to harden her heart to him.

  “I leave for the hunting lodge in the morning,” he said. “I am glad you were able to help Kate. She seems to be feeling well. I am also pleased for your recovery and offer my apologies that it was necessary in the first place.”

  She studied him, weighing her words carefully. “You needn’t carry all of your burdens alone, you know.”

  He smiled at her, but it was sad. “I cannot ask another to share them.” He winced and put a hand to his chest.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing. I must spend some time upstairs in the observatory.”

  “Would you like some company?”

  “Definitely not.”

  Lucy bit her lip and then stood. “Martyrdom favors very few people, Lord Blackwell. And you are not one of them.”

  “What are you suggesting?” His tone was weary. Resigned.

  “That there are those who care for you who would gladly ease your load.”

  “And I would not burden any I care for with it.” He gathered his papers and made his way to the door. He paused, looked back at her as though he wanted to say something else, but then opened the door and left.

  Miles staggered the last few steps into the observatory and into the reclining chair next to the heart machine. He opened his chest panel and plugged his heartclock into it, breathing a sigh of relief that he’d not passed out before reaching the third floor. Sam had told him the frequency with which he would need to regenerate would increase. He’d nearly waited too long.

  As soon as he finished, he would pack his bag and head for the hunting lodge. The last two weeks he had spent with Lucy had set his heart down a path he had sworn he would never travel. Her injuries had filled him with fear for her life, and being with her while she recovered had been the sweetest torture he’d ever known.

  He had watched her as she’d charmed, finessed, and brightened every­one around her as she regained her strength. Even the staff. Nobody was immune to her efforts, and she performed them with grace and seeming ease. Thoughts of their dance in the ballroom plagued him regularly, and he was constantly forced to think of something—anything—but the memory of holding her close in his arms. The diversions never lasted for long, though, and she had him strung tighter than a bow.

  The sooner he left, the better. He could handle seeing her at Charlesworth House. It was one more time, after all. She was dangerous to him because she made him hope for things that could never be. Fate was cruel, and he resented the fact he’d been given even a glimmer of hope for a normal life. The best thing he could do for her would be to divert her attention elsewhere.

  That ridiculous Arthur had shown a marked interest in Lucy. As much as it pained him, Miles vowed to do everything he could to encourage it. He was more suitable for a lady of quality and bearing than Miles could ever be.

  Before Blackwell left for the lodge, he assigned two armed ’tons to stand guard over his suite in the south wing, which he insisted Lucy still occupy. She felt an incredible sense of melancholy without him in residence, although she hid it well. He had been gone two days, and the knowledge that he was out of reach except by Traveler or horse-drawn carriage was depressing.

 
If the man had his way, he’d spend the rest of his days alone while his family and friends moved forward. But why? Why not find a suitable match and remarry? It couldn’t all be blamed on the scar. She found him attractive; surely there were other women in society who would have jumped at the chance to be Lady Blackwell. There was something else—she knew it. What that something was, unfortunately, remained undefined even though she used her best skills of persuasion on select members of the staff. It wasn’t as though they seemed to be hiding something—rather they seemed to be as much in the dark as she was.

  The next morning, Lucy made her daily trek upstairs to Kate’s bedchamber. A feeble voice bid her enter, and it was with a sense of dismay that she saw Kate in bed, looking nearly as pale as the white sheets around her.

  “I wasn’t feeling well after dinner last night,” Kate said as Lucy dragged a chair to the bedside. “I had breakfast sent up, but I can hardly stomach a bite.”

  Lucy looked at the tray on the nightstand. The bulk of the ham and eggs still remained on the plate. She felt a crushing sense of hopelessness that Kate wasn’t yet cured. “Oh, Kate. Are you certain you cannot eat more? You need your strength.”

  “I am afraid, Lucy,” Kate whispered and grasped her hand. “I am so desperately afraid. I do not want to die. I overheard Mrs. Farrell telling Mr. Grafton that the late Lady Blackwell showed symptoms similar to mine before she fell ill and died.”

  Lucy lifted a brow. “Kate, surely you are not putting stock in that silly curse.”

  “I don’t know!” The quiet wail tore at Lucy’s heart. “I do not know anything anymore!”

  Lucy rubbed Kate’s hand gently, her mind spinning. She glanced down at Kate’s fingers, noting with alarm that her cousin was losing weight even in her extremities. An elusive thought at the back of her mind surged forward, and she looked closer, this time at Kate’s fingernails. Each nail showed faint ridges from side to side.

  Lucy took a deep breath, and then two. “Wait here, dear. I shall return straightaway.” She grabbed the food tray and left the room, storming her way down to the kitchen. She slammed it on the butcher block with rather more force than she’d intended and stared at Mr. Grafton. “What are you putting in her food?” she demanded.

  Mr. Grafton stared at Lucy, eyes wide. “Miss?”

  “Kate’s food. Or is it her drink? If you tell me now, I will attempt to make things easier for you in the long run.”

  “Miss Pickett, I have no earthly idea what ye’re talkin’ about!”

  Curse it all, she needed to talk to Blackwell. She considered using the Tesla Room to wire him at the hunting lodge, but she’d heard Jonathan say once that the Tesla Room at the lodge was outdated and not always reliable. Besides, whatever she scribed from the manor would leave behind a record for anyone to read.

  Kate’s fingernails showed evidence of the late stages of poisoning. And given the fact that Mrs. Farrell equated Kate’s current symptoms with Clara’s, Lucy wondered how much resistance she would encounter over a request to disinter Clara’s body for proof that the late countess had been murdered. Poisoned.

  Her thoughts a swirling mess, she turned her attention to Mr. Grafton. “Kate and Jonathan are going on a short holiday, and when they return, nobody is to prepare Kate’s food unless I am present and watching the process. And I want to know who has access to the food from the time it leaves this kitchen until it finds its way into Kate’s mouth. I do hope I am clear.”

  The portly cook stared at her with a slack jaw.

  “Do I have your word, sir?”

  He nodded. “Aye, miss. You have me word.”

  Lucy returned to Kate’s room and opened the door, prepared to ask after Jonathan’s whereabouts only to see the man himself hovering at Kate’s bedside, his face a mire of confusion and worry.

  “A word with you, if you please?” Lucy said to Jonathan.

  Jonathan kissed Kate’s forehead and joined Lucy in the hallway.

  She closed the door softly and drew in a breath. “She is being poisoned, Jonathan.”

  “I beg your pardon?” He looked at the closed door in bafflement and then back to Lucy. “How do you know? We’ve considered every possibility, and there are many times when I make the tea myself.”

  “Have you always delivered it yourself?”

  “Ye—no, actually. There have been times when I’ve prepared something for her and handed the tray off to a ’ton for delivery. These are not programmed to make decisions on their own, so I had assumed it was safer than trusting a human staff member.”

  “Do you remember which ’tons?”

  Jonathan squinted in thought. “Robert, I believe, and Charles.”

  “I will look into it. In the meantime, I would strongly suggest you take Kate on a holiday. It doesn’t have to be far, perhaps just to Bath or maybe London for a time. Enough to get her system cleaned out.” Lucy had to trust that she was doing the right thing. If Jonathan was the problem, she was handing Kate a death sentence.

  Jonathan’s eyes filmed over, and he blinked away tears. “I will take her to Bath. What have I done to my sweet wife, bringing her into this house?”

  “We will find our answers,” Lucy said and patted his arm. “I’ll look into the ’tons. You get Kate out of the house. Today.”

  “I must tell Miles. He is likely gone for another two days. I could telescribe to the hunting lodge—”

  Lucy shook her head. “We don’t want to tip our hand. I just did with Mr. Grafton, and I’m wishing now that I would have cooled my temper. We certainly do not want the person or people doing this to be aware of our knowledge. I want to know who’s behind it so we can eliminate the threat. It’s my fondest hope that you two will enjoy each other’s company for many years to come.”

  Jonathan frowned. “Miles really must be informed.”

  “I will find a way to alert him, I give you my word. Don’t let Kate eat another morsel until you leave. If she needs tea, brew it yourself and deliver it personally.”

  Jonathan nodded and reentered Kate’s bedchamber.

  Lucy briefly closed her eyes and placed her palm to her forehead. Usually the problems she fixed were so much simpler. And the stakes were never so high.

  Lucy climbed the back stairway to the servants’ quarters on the third floor. She searched the ’ton docking stations quickly until she located the two designated for Robert and Charles, specifically. A quick scan of the log posted next to the stations showed they were both in the outdoor shop for repairs, along with one of the house maids.

  Lucy rushed down the stairs and out the front door, past a baffled Mr. Arnold who called after her about her coat, and headed for the stables. Martha Watts directed her to the repair shop at the rear of the garage, but warned her that the repair team was gone for lunch.

  “So much the better,” Lucy muttered as she entered the room. The three ’tons she had been looking for lay inert on repair tables beside a handful of replacement parts and gears. She worked quickly, removing the programming tin from Robert first. She slid it into her telescriber and scanned through a long series of code that directed the ’ton’s behavior, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Some lines down, she found what she sought, and it made her heart constrict painfully in her chest.

  “Sporadium,” she whispered. It was the herb she’d been unable to identify in the greenhouse. Robert had been programmed to put trace amounts of the herb into Kate’s tea. Lucy exhaled, her breath coming quickly as she pocketed the card and turned her attention to Charles’s programming tin. Now that she knew the code to look for, she found it quickly. Charles had been similarly programmed.

  Lucy kept that tin as well. She checked the house maid, but its programming card was normal. She looked out the window at the rainy, fog-shrouded ether that wrapped itself around the manor’s black stone edifice. Kate drew closer to death the longer s
he remained in that house.

  Mr. Clancy, please. The second Traveler is malfunctioning, and I must reach the hunting lodge before nightfall. The stable boys will listen to you. Miss Watts said that if you will approve it, she’ll let me take one of the horses and a carriage.” Lucy stood at the door to the old man’s cottage and shivered in the waning light and steady rain. She’d been waiting all day for the Traveler to be fixed, and she was determined to see Miles that evening.

  Mr. Clancy looked at her before replying. “What be your business at the hunting lodge, then?”

  Lucy squirmed. “I need to show his lordship something very important.”

  Mr. Clancy raised an eyebrow at her and said nothing.

  “Something that may explain more fully the death of his wife,” Lucy huffed. “And also about the nature of Kate’s illness.”

  Mr. Clancy’s expression remained neutral, so bland, in fact, that she figured he wasn’t going to help. Then he brushed past her, heading for the stables and garage. Surprised, Lucy had to trot to keep up with him. She snapped open her waterproof parasol as the rain increased its intensity.

  “I’ll have them send you with one of the mechanical horses,” he told her. “There’s a nasty storm brewin’, and he’ll serve you better than a natural horse.”

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Clancy. Somehow I will find a way to repay the favor.”

  Martha greeted them at the stable doors. “Yeh twisted the old man’s arm, I see.”

  Mr. Clancy scowled at her and requested that a mechanical horse and carriage be readied for Lucy’s use. She hugged the man quickly and then dashed into the house for the bag she’d packed. Kate and Jonathan had already left for Bath, and knowing that Kate was out of the house, and hopefully out of danger, allowed her the luxury of turning her mind to other things—things that required his lordship’s attention.