The Spiritglass Charade

by Colleen Gleason

  Signs offered several options for entertainment. One pointed left to animal curiosities. Another to medallion maze & clockwork labyrinth. river stroll & boat park. jungle faire. carousel of the gods. And oligary’s observation cogwheel appeared to be straight ahead.

  A faint mist lingered down one of the paths, and down another, tiny winking lights of pink, green, blue, and orange beckoned like little fairies. Mechanical fireflies. I could hear music in the distance . . . and in a different direction, applause and laughter.

  “Evaline.” Mina jabbed me in the arm. She was strong for being a mere mortal female.

  I refused to give her the satisfaction of rubbing the spot and pasted on my sweetest, most innocent smile.

  “I’m so pleased to finally meet you, Mr. Ashton,” I said, boldly offering Willa’s cousin my arm.

  “The pleasure is mine, Miss Stoker,” he said, obliging by taking my hand and settling it loosely inside his elbow. “I’m delighted Willa has found some new friends. She became quite a hermit after Robby disappeared.”

  Someone in the group, probably Mina, had chosen the path leading to river stroll & boat park. Blast. I’d wanted to see the oligary’s observation cogwheel.

  “It’s a terrible thing. She doesn’t want to give up hope that he can be found, but at the same time she must accept whatever it is and go on with life. But I’m certain you’re doing everything you can to help find him.” Blooming fish . . . was that my voice? Syrupy and sweet?

  “Indeed I am. I’ve spent nearly an hour every day walking about in Smithfield, asking if anyone has seen the young man. I feel as if it’s my fault.” Mr. Ashton shook his head sadly. “I shouldn’t have—”

  “What do you mean?” A spark of interest caught me. If there was a chance Robby was still alive, perhaps his cousin had information that could help.

  Mr. Ashton looked down at me as if suddenly remembering he didn’t know me very well.

  “My goodness . . . I didn’t realize how tall you are, Mr. Ashton. You must have excellent horsemanship.” I bumped gently into his side as we walked, coming closer to his person than was strictly proper. I smiled beguilingly up at him . . . and the tactic seemed to work, for his smile grew warmer.

  “You’re upset about Robby,” I prompted. “What happened?” The sooner I got the information Mina wanted—or at least some information—the sooner I could slip off and have some real fun. If there were any more vampires in London, surely at least some were here tonight.

  I had three stakes on my person, along with a knife and a curious old weapon called a mace. It was only the size of a peach pit, studded with small spikes and hanging from a chain the length of my arm, but it could inflict some damage. With the number of people here and the dark walkways, I could only imagine how many pickpockets, thieves, and hopefully UnDead would be taking advantage.

  Encountering that sort would be my preferred entertainment here in the gardens.

  Mr. Ashton focused on the path ahead of us. “The truth is, I can’t help but feel partially responsible for his disappearance. I used to take him with me to the boxing club. He liked to watch the fights. One night, he wanted to come with me, but I . . . well, that particular night, I had other plans that weren’t appropriate for a boy of eleven. But he was stubborn and insisted on following me nevertheless. He hitched a ride on the back of my carriage! When I discovered he’d done so, I became angry and hailed a cab to take him home. I should have taken him back myself, but I . . . well, I didn’t.”

  “He never returned? What did the cab driver say?”

  He made a sad sound. “We never saw him again. The cab driver said he jumped out of the vehicle after only a block and ran off.”

  “Why does Scotland Yard think he fell into a canal? There could be hundreds of other explanations for his disappearance.”

  “The boxing club is near Pristin Canal. I don’t know if you’re familiar with it, but the railings are nonexistent there, and the sides are steep and deep. There were two men who saw someone fall in, but they were too drunk to save the person. And likely too drunk to have known what they saw anyhow. But if someone did drown, it could have been Robby.”

  “How terrible.” I lapsed into silence, trying to determine what other questions Mina would ask. I could think of nothing more . . . but perhaps that was because I spent more time peering in the shadows, hoping to see a pair of glowing red eyes.

  Our conversation turned to lighter topics, and my companion made a few jests about the mechanized fireflies and their incessant buzzing. He had me laughing unexpectedly as we passed small trash compactors that chugged along, sweeping up refuse. Smoke belched from their rear pipes. Side gates opened temptingly as we approached, then closed when we walked past. Beyond the cogs and gears of the ornate side-gates, I saw shadowy figures and winking lights. The entire pleasure garden seemed to be a large maze with a variety of entertainment centers. A body of water was close by; I could smell it on the air.

  Miss Norton and her brother trailed behind us, conversing with Aunt Geraldine. Mina, Dylan, Willa, and Mr. Treadwell were directly in front of us. A fountain suddenly appeared to my right. Water spurted up in a slender, elegant stream, arcing over us, then sparkled down into a small pool on the other side of the path, spraying us gently. Miss Norton gave a little shriek. I did not.

  “It’s a pleasure to walk with a young woman who doesn’t mind a few droplets. It can be quite strenuous on the ear, those unexpected shrieks.” My companion grinned down at me, and I gave a little chuckle.

  “Then I shall attempt to keep any such shrieks firmly tamped down, Mr. Ashton. I should hate to injure your ears.”

  A trio of jugglers dressed like harlequins appeared from the shadows. Their faces were painted white with black diamonds. Each had four red balls and they began to walk along with us as they juggled, passing the balls back and forth over our heads, weaving in between and around us.

  A man in a cape and tall black hat stood near a park bench, playing a mournful song on the violin. It was eerie and sad, yet oddly beautiful. A young couple stopped to listen, then I heard the clink of coins being dropped into his violin case.

  “So, Herrell . . . how is Miss Willa?” asked Dr. Norton as he joined us. His sister had walked ahead to accompany Mr. Treadwell and the others. “You mentioned earlier there was an incident. Can I be of assistance?”

  My escort sighed and I felt his arm tighten. “I’m very concerned about her.” He patted my hand. “You’ll hear about it soon enough, I trust. Best that you hear it from me.”

  “What is it?” I was only half listening, for I suddenly felt a chill over the back of my neck. Blast it all, I wasn’t certain if it was a real breeze or a vampire.

  I looked around. The jugglers had left us. The violinist was still playing, his eye-patched face nestled into his instrument. A group of five young men came jaunting along the footpath, loud and boisterous, pushing and shoving. A man riding a bicycle, its front wheel nearly as tall as me, came spinning down the path. Lights glittered on his spokes, and a little puff of steam came from the back. A trail of golden glitter followed in his wake.

  “Willa did something terribly frightening yesterday. She climbed on top of the roof of the south tower and appeared to be attempting to fish,” Mr. Ashton said grimly. “She brought up a pole with her, and was casting the line off into the air. Fortunately, this was right in the middle of the day and one of our footmen saw her.”

  This grabbed my full attention. “She wasn’t hurt?”

  “My word,” said Dr. Norton. “Did she come down safely?”

  “Only with some difficulty. It was quite an unsettling experience.”

  “What explanation did she give for doing such a foolhardy thing?”

  We’d stopped at the edge of the footpath and I remained silent as they continued.

  “She claimed . . . pah, I can hardly speak it. She claimed her mother told her to do it, that it was the only way to save Robby! That if she could catch his soul on
a hook, where it floats over the tower, she could bring him back to earth.”

  “Has the poor girl gone mad?” Dr. Norton’s eyes were wide.

  “That is precisely my concern.” Mr. Ashton sounded weary. “I very much fear. . . .” He stopped and seemed to notice me again for the first time. “You’re a dear friend of Willa’s. Have you seen any evidence of this?”

  I didn’t correct his assumption, although I felt guilty about allowing him to believe we were close. “No. Did she say how or when she received those instructions?”

  “No, and I didn’t want to upset her further by pressing.” Mr. Ashton ran a hand over his face, rubbing his brow roughly. “Her aunt has threatened to cut her off from doing any more séances, and I’m inclined to agree. We both felt she should have remained home tonight and rested. But she insisted on coming.”

  All of a sudden, a figure appeared at the edge of the pathway. A discordant note startled me, and I was reminded of the ghostly music during Miss Fenley’s séance. But when I looked over, it was only to see the eye-patched violinist. Still playing screechy, unpleasant notes, he gestured to his open violin case with a booted foot. The gentle music he’d been playing moments ago had gone, replaced by this loud, unpleasant noise.

  “Devil take it—pardon me, Miss Stoker.” Mr. Ashton gestured at the musician. “Only cease your playing and I’ll line your bloody pockets with coin.” He dug in the deep insides of his coat and tossed a handful of coins into the case.

  One of them flipped out and landed on the ground next to my foot. Without thinking, I bent to pick it up just as the musician stooped as well.

  We both reached for it at the same time, and I looked at him full in the face.

  Bloody, blooming, blasted fish.

  Pix.

  But this time, there was no humor in his expression, no flash of levity in his exposed eye. Only cold darkness. He took the coin and gave a short, jerky bow. Then he collected his case, tucking the violin under his arm. “Good even’n, guvnors. . . . Miss.”

  I caught a glimpse of his flat, hard mouth just before he turned away. A gate behind him opened, and he walked through, melting into the shadows.

  Miss Holmes

  Wherein Our Heroine Encounters Creatures of the Four-Legged and Finned Varieties

  As we strolled along the crowded path in New Vauxhall, my hand curved around Dylan’s arm. As requested, Evaline inserted herself into a conversation with Mr. Ashton. I hoped she didn’t forget she was actually supposed to obtain information. She seemed more interested in smiling up at him and making flutter-eyes. Anyone watching would think the two of them to be engaged, or at the very least sparking.

  After we extricated ourselves from the midst of some energetic harlequin-garbed jugglers, I saw that Evaline, Mr. Ashton, and Dr. Norton had stopped to listen to a violinist. The musician wasn’t particularly good—frankly, the screeching notes were torture to my ears, and I couldn’t understand the attraction—but at least my partner was still with her quarry.

  “I need to speak with Mr. Treadwell,” I murmured.

  Dylan bent closer to me than was strictly necessary, and I found myself surrounded by a pleasant male scent as he replied, “Shall I distract Miss Norton for a few minutes? Get her to walk on ahead with me?”

  “If you can dislodge her from Mr. Treadwell’s side, yes. And Miss Ashton and her aunt as well.”

  “And then afterward, maybe we can take a boat ride. Just you and me, you know, if it’s proper. I’d like to talk to you.”

  “I’d like that.” My tongue seemed to have stuck to the roof of my mouth. A boat ride. Alone? Under the moonlight?

  It wasn’t proper at all . . . but I didn’t care. Hardly anything I’d done in the last month or so had been strictly proper.

  “Cool. I’ll approach Willa and Amanda, and—”

  “And I’ll pretend to have a problem with my shoe,” I said. “Mr. Treadwell seems gentlemanly enough to stop and assist while you move the others on ahead.”

  Things worked precisely as planned—no surprise, given my foresight in waiting until Miss Ashton and Miss Norton were safely in Dylan’s presence before I pretended to trip.

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Treadwell,” I said when I had “fixed” my heel. “The Gardens are lovely, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t have been comfortable walking along this path alone. I see the others have left us behind. Although there are several other people about, I prefer to be with ones I know.”

  “I don’t know where Mr. Ashton and Dr. Norton have gone off to.” He glanced back. “Or your friend, Miss Stoker. She seems to have disappeared.”

  I was about to reply when a small creature bounded out of the shadows in front of me. Startled but not frightened, I halted, still clinging to Mr. Treadwell’s arm.

  It was a spotted dog with floppy ears that nearly dragged on the ground. He was running about, barking as if released from some sort of confinement. His long ears went every which way as he dashed about, making awkward figure-eights on the path around us and the others in the vicinity. One of his rear legs was a mechanical one. It gleamed in the moonlight, making a soft metallic click as the limb leapt and bounded. He stepped on one of his ears and tripped, tumbling onto his face in a somersault, then twisted back onto his feet and dashed about some more. I could hardly contain a giggle.

  “Angus!” called a voice from the shadows. “Angus, where are you off to?” Thrashing sounds and vibrations amid the shrubbery commenced.

  As a rule, I don’t care for animals, but this particular creature was utterly endearing with its too-big ears and stubby legs. I empathized with his ungainliness, having tripped over my own two feet (or skirts) more than once. I released Mr. Treadwell’s arm and crouched on the path, calling for the beagle to come to me.

  “Come here, doggie.” I felt the unfamiliar strain in my legs and ankles from such an unusual position. My corset felt uncomfortably tight at the same time; I’d have to adjust my Easy Un-Lacer in the future. The green lace of my overskirt poofed out in a circle around me. “Oh, there you are. Nice doggie.”

  He settled on the ground, right on the edge of my lacy skirt, writhing in some expectant manner. His ears lolled about like a child’s arms when making snow angels, flopping back and forth. His round white tummy was exposed and his mechanical leg fell wide from his torso, still moving reflexively. I got the distinct impression he expected me to rub his belly.

  “Angus!”

  Recognizing the voice, I looked up as the beagle’s apparent owner emerged from the bushes. “Inspector Grayling!”

  He looked from me to the beagle, then over at Mr. Treadwell, and then back down to me. “Miss Holmes. I do believe this is the first time I’ve found you crouched over something other than a dead body.”

  “Dead body?” Mr. Treadwell said with a horrified expression. (Of course the demure Miss Ashton would never be caught crouching over a dead body.)

  I gave Grayling a quelling look, then replied to my companion. “Don’t mind him, it’s only a jest.”

  “Would you like some assistance?” Grayling offered me his hand as I began to struggle upright.

  “No, thank you.” I patted the canine creature on the head once more. Despite the weight and awkwardness of the layers of petticoat beneath my skirts, I was able to pull to my feet gracefully, without—for once—embarrassing myself. “Is this your dog, then?”

  By the way Angus was jumping up on Grayling’s legs and panting enthusiastically, the answer was obvious.

  “Yes. The little menace slipped his lead and took himself off when we were walking through the park.” But now there was affection in his voice as he bent to scratch the dog, who’d flopped on his back once more and fairly wriggled in ecstasy. “It’s no wonder ye lost a leg, you little blunderbunt. Always getting into trouble, aren’t you, boyo?”

  “This is the beagle from last week in Glasner-Mews—who caught his leg in the metal hasp on the streetwalk. You got him free and had his leg fixed.”


  “How did you know about that?”

  “I saw him trapped and crying, and then you . . . erm . . . you came out of Mrs. Yingling’s window and jumped down a whole level to save him. Foolishly, I might add. What if you’d missed and fallen all the way to ground level?” The memory of his neat vault over the streetwalk railing was still embedded in my brain.

  Grayling’s expression changed into something unfathomable. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he seemed embarrassed. He cleared his throat. “You . . . er . . . saw that?”

  “Yes.” Goodness, my voice sounded rusty. I was forced to clear my throat as well. “Despite its foolhardiness, it was very . . . athletic.”

  “Aye. Right.” His Scottish brogue was evident now. “Well, then. Thank you for capturing Angus for me. I’ll tighten his collar to make certain he doesn’t slip off again. Won’t I, boy?” He attached a leash to the collar in question.

  When Grayling stood, I realized for the first time he was wearing a coat with a badge pinned to it. (How had I not noticed earlier? Drat!) “You must not be here for pleasure, then, Inspector.” I gestured to the metal shield.

  “Ah, well. As it happens, Mr. Oligary suggested the Met might provide a bit of extra manpower for security tonight.” He shrugged, once again seeming sheepish. “He was paying well, and Angus and I thought it would be an opportunity to see the inside of the New Gardens and get paid at the nonce.”

  Before I could respond to that enlightening comment, Grayling’s attention wandered to Mr. Treadwell, then returned to me. “But Angus and I have interrupted your party, Miss Holmes. We should get on with our business. Come along, you scoundrel.” He tugged firmly at the leash.

  Angus didn’t seem to like that idea, but after a moment, he succumbed to the inevitable and began to bound off happily once more—this time, attempting to pull Grayling along with him. It was a losing battle, for of course the pup was hardly a match for the tall, broad-shouldered detective. Nevertheless, he allowed his canine friend to lead him off.