“He already has paid,” she said softly when she pulled back, breathless for at least the hundredth time that evening. “I would wager he’s still lying in a heap on the stairs outside.”
Miles released a heavy sigh and stood, rising to his full height. He ran a hand through his hair again. “I will be back in thirty minutes. I dare not leave you alone any longer.”
She smiled. “If you keep all of the Charlesworths in the same room, I shall be perfectly safe. We will need to devise a plan of attack later on.”
“You will leave the planning and attacking to me,” he said and leaned in for a quick kiss before making his way to the door. He examined it briefly, frowning. “Looks like I broke it when I kicked it shut, but it will still lock.”
She crossed the room and, with a final kiss, closed the door behind him and slid the bolt home.
He had reacted exactly as she had known he would. He would rush in, guns blazing and making his own set of plans, when what was required was a bit of stealth and finesse; he would end up killing someone and find himself investigated by the Committee. She hated the deception but knew it was a necessary one. She had to get into the Charlesworths’ bedrooms while they were still empty.
Lucy checked her pocket watch as she crept down the hallway for the third time. Figuring she should start at the top of the list, she had gone to Eustace’s room first, but a cursory check had yielded nothing but some extra-large garters, a hidden stash of laudanum, and some empty gin bottles.
She gave Arthur’s room a quick look just to be on the safe side. It was as neat as a pin and utterly boring. That he had a painting of his own likeness hanging over the mantelpiece opposite his bed was especially nauseating but not necessarily incriminating. She hadn’t found any evidence to suggest either mother or son was a denizen of the undead.
She had fifteen minutes left before Miles returned to take her back to the ball, and she didn’t relish the thought of not being in his bedchamber when the time ran out. He would be angry that she had snuck into the rooms of suspected murderers without his help or knowledge. But one look at how he had handled things with Arthur was all she needed to convince herself she was right to conduct the search alone.
Like the other two doors, Candice’s was locked, and Lucy made quick work of it using a trick Daniel had taught her when they’d played hide-and-seek as children. She entered the room and clicked on the small torch she’d grabbed from her bedroom. The light was faint; it needed to be connected to a Tesla charger soon. She hoped it would hold out long enough to make a quick search of the bedroom.
Something Arthur had said about Candice played in her mind as she opened drawers, first in the bureau, and then in Candice’s vanity. He had said Candice had showered Miles with attention, which Miles, of course, wouldn’t have recognized as attention. He would have seen it only as unwelcome adulation from a cousin who had always annoyed him and brushed it off. She doubted he had realized that Candice may have wanted to be the countess.
Lucy made quick work of the vanity. Jewelry, hairpins, perfume bottles, and jars of face paint—all things she expected to find and nothing of any use to Lucy.
With a sigh, she straightened and crossed the room to the tall wardrobe that stood against the wall near the bed. She opened the doors to find dozens of lavish dresses and accessories to match. Pushing aside the masses of fabric, she knelt down and opened one of two drawers at the bottom. She knew that when she found whatever it was she was looking for, she would recognize it, and as she examined the drawer’s contents, her heart began to thump painfully in her chest.
She lifted a jar of medicinal herbs and held it to the light of her torch—which flickered and went out.
“No,” she whispered. She glanced at the window where the curtains were drawn. She made her way to the drapes, and lifting one aside, read the label by moonlight.
It told her, unfortunately, nothing other than the maker of the bottle. With a glance at the door, she carefully twisted off the lid and brought it to her nose. She recognized the scent. She licked her fingertip and dipped it into the mixture, barely touching it to her tongue to be certain she had correctly identified it. She carefully replaced the lid and clutched the jar tightly in her hand.
When she and her fellow researchers at the Botanical Aid Society had begun the search for the Anti-Vampiric Assimilation Aid, they had been required to learn the smell and taste of the drug itself.
How long had Candice been a vampire? And more importantly, how long had she been taking the Aid? The drug only worked for one year, and if Candice were nearing her time limit, it could explain her desperation to secure a position as the Countess of Blackwell. She would have access to nearly unlimited funds, not to mention a title, which could sustain her while she waited for someone to develop a more permanent assimilation aid that could grant her the ability to walk among society undetected indefinitely.
The doorknob turned, and Lucy dropped the curtain, diving to the side of the bed. She crouched down and held her breath. Someone entered but didn’t bother with the light. It made sense—Candice wouldn’t need it. To Lucy’s immense relief, the room remained blessedly dark as Candice made her way over to the vanity, her back to Lucy.
Lucy could make out little more than the woman’s shadow as she tossed aside a few items on the vanity’s surface with a curse. Lucy was amazed that the frantic beating of her heart wasn’t audible to the creature not ten feet from her.
Candice suddenly clutched her head and let out a frustrated roar. She whirled around and stomped to the other side of the bed where she flung open a drawer on the bedside table, searching for something in a furious rush.
“Arthur,” Candice ground out. “What have you done with it?”
Lucy heard her move away from the table. She lifted her head just enough to see Candice pacing back and forth in front of the door leading to the hallway.
Lucy’s brow wrinkled. Candice must not have been looking for the Aid or she’d have walked straight to the wardrobe where Lucy had found it.
Candice placed a hand on her forehead, muttering to herself, and while most of it was meaningless to Lucy, she did catch the words, “Blasted diary.”
Whose diary?
Lucy realized with a stab of panic that if Candice crossed to the other side of the bed to search in the night table behind Lucy’s back, she was done for. She lifted the bedcovering from the floor to see if there was enough clearance for her to hide beneath the bed. She was beginning to cramp from crouching so long, and her ankle throbbed horribly. She wondered if lying on the floor might be more comfortable in the long run when the door opened again and closed quickly.
“Arthur! What on earth happened to you?” Candice’s gasp told Lucy a couple of things—first, that Arthur was still alive, and second, that he must look absolutely horrible.
“He is insane.” Arthur coughed violently. Lucy heard water being poured and then a pause before the man continued. “He tried to kill me!”
“Keep your voice down!”
“Did you hear me, Candice? He wanted to kill me! I think he is a shifter. I think he did kill Marie, and I am going to prove it.”
“Where is the diary?”
“Why is it so dark in here?”
Candice paused. “I have a headache. I know you have the diary because it’s gone. I want it back. I need it.”
“I need it more than you do, especially now. I’m going to expose him to the PSRC; he will be executed in a matter of weeks.”
“You’re a fool. I am going to give you one final opportunity to tell me where you’ve put the diary. Is it in your room?”
“‘One final opportunity’? Are you daft? What is that supposed to mean?”
There was a slight pause, a hiss, and then Lucy heard Arthur’s horrified gasp. “Candice! What are you doing? What are you—”
There was a loud thud, an
d Lucy lifted her head fractionally to see that Candice had thrown Arthur against the wall. With a snarl, she bent to his throat. His scream was cut short, and after several agonizing moments, Lucy heard him hit the floor with a sickening thunk. She ducked her head and lay flat, sliding under the bed, using the temporary chaos as cover for the noise she made.
It was silent in the room, and Lucy closed her eyes tightly before turning her head and looking out across the floor. She could see dark shadows but nothing definitive. She heard Candice swear, vicious and low, as she made her way to the vanity with a swish of sound.
According to the letter from the Society that Lucy had read during her original flight to Blackwell, Candice had just given herself a good three hours of energy if she’d consumed enough of Arthur’s blood when she killed him. It wouldn’t require much, unfortunately, and Lucy realized grimly that it was one of the Vampiric Assimilation Aid’s biggest perks to the undead. Walk among the living, enjoy the daylight, eat food normally, maintain a healthy appearance with a natural-looking complexion, and, if desirous of maintaining the vampire assets at full strength—admittedly for a limited time—drink the blood of the living.
Candice had just tipped her hand, however, and she had to have realized it. Unless she could calm herself enough to play innocent once Arthur’s body was discovered, she would be forced to take drastic measures. Lucy didn’t know her well enough to determine what Candice would do when pushed to extremes. She’d already murdered two women—possibly more—but she had absolutely nothing left to lose. If Candice blamed Kate, or even Miles, for her lot in life, Lucy imagined revenge would be high on her list of priorities.
Lucy heard water droplets hitting the pitcher, and she imagined Candice desperately washing her face and anything else that might have been splattered in the slaughter. The wardrobe door was flung open, and still muttering a litany of curses, Candice changed her clothes. It was several long minutes—it was never easy doing up small buttons without help—before Lucy finally heard Candice take a deep breath and open the door.
The earsplitting scream that followed had Lucy squeezing her eyes closed. Candice was very, very good. It wasn’t long before the scream gave way to frantic sobs, and with the light from the hallway spilling into the room, Lucy saw Candice crumple to the floor just outside the doorway.
The running of feet, the added exclamations of horror, and additional screaming soon filled the hallway, turning the scene into absolute chaos.
When Lucy heard the deep rumble of a voice that was all too familiar, she cringed. She feared that to show herself at that point and try to explain what she’d been doing in the room and then point to Candice as the murderer might well send the vampire into an additional frenzy. Kate was likely in the hallway, and it wasn’t worth the risk. Lucy would have to wait under the bed, though Miles would soon be frantic with worry over her absence.
Lucy heard Miles firing directions, ordering everyone from the hallway and shouting for Oliver. He told Sam to enter the room and examine Arthur, and Daniel to find Lucy in his bedchamber. What Daniel thought of Lucy’s supposed location, she could only imagine. Eustace had only just arrived on the scene, apparently, because Miles told her to go back downstairs.
“What is it?” Eustace shrieked. “What is that? Is that blood? Where is Candice?”
Miles told one of the ’tons to escort Eustace to the parlor and then gave instructions to another to summon the constable, if he was in attendance. Lucy doubted it—a constable would hardly be the sort Eustace would have invited to her elegant ball. Lucy felt drained of all energy and wished the room would clear, if only for a moment.
Sounds of the chaos eventually faded down the hallway, and Lucy listened carefully, identifying only two voices. Slowly, carefully, she slid out from under the bed on the far side and stood, brushing dirt and dust from her dress.
“What the devil?” Miles ground out.
Daniel appeared in the doorway, wide-eyed. “She’s not in there, Blackwell,” he said and then stopped when he saw her.
Sam knelt on the floor next to Arthur and looked up at her as well, his mouth agape. Oliver paused in the act of telescribing a message and whistled low.
“There’s no time to explain,” she said as she moved toward the four men, faltering on her sore ankle and cramped muscles. “It’s Candice. I found this—it’s assimilation aid.” She showed them the jar and glanced out into the hallway. “She’s hell-bent on finding a diary, something that apparently could be detrimental to you,” Lucy finished, looking at Miles.
Miles watched her with something akin to fire shooting from his eyes, and she knew she would be forced to endure a blistering lecture on her safety. It would have to wait, and she said as much to all of the men.
“Where is Candice?” she finished. Her stomach dropped at the next thought. “And Kate?”
How the blazes did she get her out of the house?” Miles shouted as he pushed his way through the crowd. The crush of people attempting to leave the ball separated him from the butler he was trying to interrogate. When word had reached the partygoers that a vampire was not only in the house but had also just killed someone, they had stampeded for the exit, most without bothering to retrieve their coats or wraps.
“I do not know, sir,” the butler yelled at Miles across three heads. “One moment Miss Candice was in the parlor, and the next she was gone.”
Miles crushed the paper he held in his hand. It was a note from Candice, hastily scrawled, that she had Kate and if they wanted to see her unharmed, he was to meet her at the hunting lodge in one hour. He spied Lucy in the mass of people, coming from the hallway that led to the kitchen. She was pale, her face drawn in a near panic. He pushed his way to her, dodging elbows and throwing a few of his own.
Grabbing her hand, he pulled her toward the parlor. He shoved her in the room ahead of him and slammed the door, taking a deep breath. Sam, Oliver, and Daniel were there, as he had instructed. A maid hovered over Eustace, who was wringing her hands, clearly at a loss.
“Out,” he said to the maid and motioned with his head. Without a backward glance at her mistress, she bolted for the door and left.
“Did you check the third floor?” Lucy asked Daniel. “She’s not in the kitchen or den.”
Oliver plugged his telescriber into a connector on the wall, checking for news or messages.
Miles gritted his teeth together, hating the news he had to deliver. “Sit down,” he murmured to Lucy.
She must have seen something in his face, because she swallowed and nodded, sinking slowly onto a window seat.
“Where is she?” Eustace wailed. “Where is Candice? First Arthur—she will be next!” The woman coughed, choked, and Sam poured her a cup of tea from a tray near her elbow.
Miles had no love for the woman, it was true, but her world was about to be utterly crushed. He found he wasn’t entirely without decency as he quietly delivered the news to his aunt that her only daughter was a vile murderer and that she’d kidnapped Kate.
He expected her to deny it, but her face drained of all color and she gaped at him, mute. Miles glanced at Lucy, who stared at him for the space of a few heartbeats before getting to her feet.
“What is she thinking?” Lucy asked. “If she actually wants to meet at the lodge, we’ll need more than one hour.”
“Once we’re airborne, it’s only a ten-minute flight,” Daniel said. “My personal airship has . . . capabilities.”
“I am to go alone,” Miles’s pronouncement was met with a moment or two of silence.
“Unacceptable,” Oliver said. “You’re not going alone. And Kate may need Sam for medical attention.”
“I am not staying here,” Lucy told him. “I’ll not attempt any heroics once we are there, but I will not wait here. We must tell Jonathan. He’s checking the grounds outside for any sign of her.” Lucy glanced at Eustace, who was rocking slow
ly in her chair, her face a mask of shock. “I’ll find some help for her.” Lucy made her way to the door. Looking back at Miles, she said, “Do not leave without me.”
“I don’t like it,” Miles said to the room in general after she’d left. The thought of what could happen to Lucy made him sick to his stomach, and he paced, shoving a hand through his hair.
“I don’t either,” Daniel agreed, his face tense.
“Kate will need her there,” Sam said as he placed two fingers on Eustace’s wrist. “Lucy’s a smart woman. She said she’ll stay out of the way. The last thing she will want to do is cause more trouble for Kate.”
Miles felt his eyes burn and cursed the vulnerability. His heartclock had nearly stopped when he’d realized that not only had Lucy not rested but she had gone after the vampire herself. She’d said she’d had her reasons, that she would explain later, but he was a combustible mixture of fury and gut-wrenching fear.
“I’ll alert the airfield to have my ship ready,” Daniel said.
“Use the connector,” Oliver told him. “I’m finished. The locals are on their way—should arrive in five minutes.” He moved to kneel by Eustace, taking one of her hands. “The police will help you take care of matters here,” he told her. “Is there anyone we can send for? Clergy, perhaps, or a lady friend?”
Eustace shook her head as tears slipped from her eyes. “I have no one.”
The door opened, and Lucy entered with the head housekeeper on her heels, followed by Jonathan, his face ashen beneath red cheeks that evidenced his time outside. Lucy spoke with the housekeeper while Miles gently grasped his brother’s arm.
“I’ll explain on the way,” he said. “And she will be returned to you whole.”
Beauty and the Clockwork Beast Page 30