“You’re a real brick, Cole.” Griff stood up and clapped his friend on the back as they walked into the foyer. “Higgins will have your carriage brought about in a moment. Tell me, why do you use a horse and carriage? Seems odd for an airship magnate not to have the latest and greatest steam-car.” Griff finally asked the question from earlier.
Cole shrugged. “It seems counter-productive to my cause to flaunt my love of steam tech.”
“Your cause?” Griff wasn’t sure if it was the late hour, but he didn’t understand.
“Well, how can I debauch all of London’s elite debutants if I can’t gain entre to their drawing rooms? A flashy display of tech would brand me a radical and all the doors would be shut in my face. Then how would I entertain myself?”
Griff laughed. “Still a Casanova, I see. One day very soon you will meet a woman who will make you want to reform and then where will you be?”
Something painful flashed through his friend’s eyes, but Higgins appeared at that moment to hand Cole his overcoat. “Most likely dead,” Cole quipped and then departed.
Griff retired for the night with more than a few things to mull over. The woman he was pretending to marry contained depths he’d never imagined as did his longtime friend. Did he know anyone anymore? Did he even know himself?
9
Jo managed to move into her childhood home in a matter of hours, and for once Miriam approved of something she had done. It was a rare accomplishment, but all momentum was quickly dashed when she donned her trousers and coat to head out for a little reconnaissance. The weight of her past weighed far heavier than even she had expected, and escape seemed a prudent choice.
The truth was, she loved Holt—like a brother—but something in her gut told her he was hiding something from her and she needed to know what. Her archival research had shown Griff to be a moderate at a glance, and a steam supporter if one took a closer look. But it wasn’t enough to demand his death. There had to be more and clearly Griff wasn’t telling her what it was. The reality was, Holt had to know because his insistence she protect Griff simply did not align with the available facts.
So, while ignoring Miriam’s frowns, she headed out on her steam-cycle letting the late afternoon sun warm her slightly despite the chill in the air. She stopped first at Holt’s apartments. He had a few rooms on Albemarle Street. It took little effort to pick the lock and slip inside, she really needed to talk to him about his personal security. But then she realized if his home was so easy to enter there wasn’t likely to be much of interest there. True to expectation, she found little more than a few tailor’s bills—really a paltry sum compared to many other such invoices she’d seen over the years—and a few images of what she assumed were his family. In fact, there were very few personal affects at all.
Blast him, this wasn’t his home. This was a decoy address. Oh, now she approved, whole-heartedly. A cunning move for certain. Clearly she’d have to dig a bit harder to find his real residence. Not terribly put off, she slipped out of the rooms and back down to her steam-cycle. The engine turned over with a sputter-cough common in steam-engines and she headed on to her next stop. His office was in the Bureau of Steam Technology (BST) building, so she’d have to be more cautious stealing in there. She’d visited him once, back when she was originally being recruited, so she hoped he hadn’t moved offices since then. Outside of the building she parked her cycle and flipped her messenger bag from her backside to her front and pulled her cap low on her brow to hide her feminine features. Most people would assume she was a boy running errands, as they should. Only on closer inspection would her rounder hips and flattened breasts be noticeable.
The building was bustling with men and even a few women as they all went about their business. It was lunch time and she hoped that Holt had stuck to his usual schedule—one she had long ago taken care to detail and periodically monitored to update it—and had stepped out for a late lunch. He tended to work late into the night, so opted for a longer late lunch vice taking two breaks, one for lunch and one for dinner. Today it would prove very convenient for her.
In the basement of the building down a long, virtually deserted hallway, she found his office door. Right where she left it, name plate and all. A quick turn of the handle proved it was locked. She inspected the lockset and realized it was not a simple keyed lock. A-ha! Perhaps she might find something of interest within. It occurred to her that the token she used to lock her private hidey-hole, the very one given to her by Holt, matched the first lock on the door. She pulled the cord from around her neck and placed the piece into the recessed space. Then with a gentle turn, a brass plate slid open revealing the keyed lockset.
A few moments later she had the office door open and was inside. She went to his desk and started sorting through the open drawers. Of course, there was nothing of interest there. But then she took everything out of the bottom drawer and pressed along the bottom. She felt more than heard a faint click and then the bottom panel slid back, revealing a hidden space. Inside she found multiple identification credentials, all of them bearing some likeness of Holton. No surprises there. She replaced everything as it was and moved on to the wall of drawers behind his desk.
She doubted opening any of them would lead to anything of interest, so she looked over each drawer handle for indicators of a hidden mechanism. The last handle on the bottom right lifted up and twisted left. The entire wall slid up silently, revealing a shelf filled with books. She pulled one off the shelf and opened it to find handwritten notes and details on page after page. Each one covered a different politician or key figure in the British landscape be it political, technological, or cultural.
She pulled another book from the shelf at random and opened it to find her own dossier inside. She flipped through, reading bits about her life she had always thought to be private, from details of her orphaned state to her early time training under her uncle. No detail had been left private. She found similar dossiers on her girls, Elena, Katerina, and Mary Margaret. In another book she found the first page of Griff’s profile.
Curious, she began to read, and a few pages in she cursed under her breath as she came across the words that told her the man she was enamored of had lied to her from the start. Furious at both him and herself for having believed he might be different, she snapped the book shut as the clear ring of footsteps sounded down the hallway. Fearing discovery, she placed the book back where she found it, slid the wall of drawers back in place, and crept to the door. She cracked it open and looked to the right where she spied not only Holt, but another man she’d never seen before.
His neatly-trimmed blond hair and tailored suit suggested someone of means, but Holt’s deference—or appearance of it—indicated someone in a leadership position at the BST. Though not someone Holt particularly cared for. Glancing to the left she saw no escape. There was nothing for it, she would have to brazen her way past the two men. Fortunately, she didn’t think either had noticed her as they seemed to be in a somewhat heated discussion. With time running out, she swallowed her fear and slipped out of the door, letting it lock behind her as it closed silently. She headed down the hall toward the men, head down, brim pulled low, and hands jammed into her trousers. As she passed, neither man seemed to take note of her. But then just as she was about to make the stairs, the blond man called out to her.
“Boy, hold on. I have a message for you to take to room 42.” The man drew closer, even as she could hear a second set of footsteps retreating down the hall. She paused at the steps and turned toward the stranger just enough to not seem rude or insolent. He shoved a folded up piece of paper at her. “Here, and be quick about it.”
“Yes, sir,” she mumbled as she tried to lower her voice some. Note in hand, she dashed up the stairs, following his orders to be quick, and found her way to the main floor. There, she glanced at the mundane note about a meeting that afternoon then dumped the note in a trash can and fled the building. She had just turned her engine over on her cycle w
hen she felt the weight of someone’s stare on her. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw Holt hovering in the shadows of the entrance to the BST.
He did not look pleased, but she opted not to dwell on that as she took off nearly running down two men who may or may not have been peers of the realm.
After a long morning of pompous speeches on the dangers of steam tech and the criminal element it brought to London’s streets, Griff was ready for some much needed solitude in his laboratory. He and Jo had made progress—not as much as he desired, but some. Most importantly, they’d learned that Holton, her usual contact, had not authorized her orders, and that he was as concerned about the communications breach as Jo was.
After entering his study, he accessed the entrance to the lab and made his way into the space that was cluttered with gadgets of all states of completion. Some were done, waiting to be implemented, and others partially completed. And of course there were those that were mere drawings on his workbench and had yet to be brought to life. Those were the ones that called to him in the moment. The ones that would soothe his frustrations and give him something to focus on.
Except, he was quite certain he hadn’t left his desk drawer open. He looked at the room more closely. As he inspected his desk and then his cabinets, he found all of the locks had been pried open and his papers riffled through. With a curse, he ran back upstairs to his study and hit the intercom switch.
“Yes, my lord?” Higgins’ calm tones answered his call.
“I need a detective immediately. My laboratory has been broken into.” He cursed under his breath, worried about what may have been discovered.
“Lucas will be ready as soon as your message is,” Higgins said.
Lucas was his errand boy for the Free Steam Party. Griff couldn’t call to the New Victorian Police directly since he didn’t wish to expose his secret workspace. But the FSP would send someone they could trust to be discreet and keep his private business just that, private.
For a heartbeat he considered sending for Jo, but then decided against it. She remained unaware of his secrets, and for the moment he preferred it that way. Within the hour, a Detective Lancaster arrived and inspected the study entrance and the lab itself. They were just coming through the secret door behind the fireplace when Jo appeared from the shadows of his balcony. “Well, well, well. I see we all have our secrets still. Do we not?”
“My Lord, back into the tunnel. I will deal with this female.” Detective Lancaster nudged him back and drew his weapon.
“Griff, do call off the watchdog. We really don’t have time for this.” Jo plopped into his desk chair, keeping the wood surface between them.
Of course, she was right. They did not in fact have time. “Lancaster, I know this woman. You may go on about your business.”
The detective looked at him worriedly, but soon nodded and departed the study.
Jo remained seated, but then reclined and propped her booted feet up on his desk. Ignoring all the signals that something was distinctly wrong, he objected to her liberties. “Jo, do take your boots off the furniture.”
She ignored him. “Tell me, Griff. The night I crept in here and held a knife to your throat, did I scare you?”
“What are you going on about? Jo, I have other issues to worry about at the moment. Please get to your point—whatever it is—and leave me be tonight.”
She dropped her feet to the floor and stood. “Did you fear for your life, that night?”
“Of course. You damn near slit my throat.” Griff growled a bit at the end, his frustration growing.
She nodded and made a questioning noise. “Odd, because I distinctly remember asking you if there was anything else you needed to tell me about who might be trying to kill you—you know, after I didn’t slit your throat—and you indicated you had no idea who might want you dead.”
“Yes. Yes. I did. What is this about, Jo?” Her tone and the line of questioning had a pit forming in his stomach. Now that he stopped and paid attention, she seemed…displeased.
“This is about you being a steam-damned liar.” She eased out from behind the desk, moving closer. “No, Jo. I couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to kill me,” she said in a deep voice and took a few more steps toward him. “No, Jo, I’m not hiding anything,” she said again in that same almost mocking alto.
A rather strong sense of dread rushed up from the darkest parts of his soul because he knew she had discovered his secret. And she was bloody pissed.
She stomped the last few steps into his personal space and then reached up. It was all he could do to control the urge to flinch away, but he refused to cower. Yes, he’d deceived her. Yes, he knew why someone might want him dead, or at least he potentially knew why, but either way he had no idea who it was. He was more surprised than anything when all she did was poke him with her finger.
“You’re the bloody Lord of Cogs!” She shouted the last bit, emphasizing each word with a firm poke to the chest that he was certain would leave a mark.
A deflated little sigh escaped him. Well, the truth was out. “I am. But I can explain everything.” No more hiding the truth from her. At first it had been a trust issue, would she turn on him? But then, once he’d found so much pleasure in her arms it became about not having her look at him with revulsion…like the last woman he had courted. Granted he hadn’t told her the truth either, just gifted her with a little automaton that danced about. Her rebuke of all things steam-powered, and by extension him, was both swift and deeply hurtful. It confirmed everything his father had ever said to him about his ungentlemanly pursuits.
It would seem that no woman, not even one so unconventional as an assassin, could look past his love of technology.
Jo pulled up short at his admission, but after a moment of hesitation charged ahead. “I won’t deal with a liar. I’m sorry, Griff, but this is over. I will continue with my efforts to find who tried to kill you, but I will not be doing so with your assistance. I can’t work with someone I can’t trust.”
Was that the tiniest waver he heard in her voice? Perhaps a kernel of doubt? “Good bye.” And just like that, she was gone.
Griff sank into the nearest chair, stunned. The most amazing woman he’d ever met had just walked out on him. Of course, his unruly heart took that opportunity to proclaim itself firmly in Jo’s corner. Great Trevithick, could he be in love with her?
10
Jo retreated to her home, her childhood home, and tried to set aside her anger and more importantly, the feeling of betrayal. She was tangled up with the Lord of Cogs, the infamous leader of the Free Steam movement. A figurehead, mainly, since he was so reclusive as to never be seen. She snorted.
Griff’s treachery currently rivaled the ridiculous sense of betrayal she had always associated with her parents’ deaths. Certainly, it was not their fault they died in an accident, but she couldn’t help but feel her life would have been different had they lived. She might have met Griff as a debutant and perhaps fallen in love. Without a doubt, she would not have become an assassin and Madame. And, while she had come to accept her life, such as it was, moving back into her childhood home was a painful reminder of all that she had lost.
Sitting alone in her room, too upset to do much more than brood, she had picked at the dinner tray Mrs. Gregory had brought up for her. It was after midnight before she bothered to get up and carry the still mostly full tray back downstairs. As she was cleaning up the last of her mess, a soft knock sounded against the back entrance. She approached the door cautiously since she was not expecting any visitors, but then the mystery guest on the other side proceeded to knock twice, pause, three times, pause and then once.
It was Holt.
She opened the door and found her friend and handler huddled in the shadows. She quickly ushered him into the kitchen. “Holt, what are you doing here?”
“You came to visit my office today.” He eyed her with a wariness she hadn’t seen from him in many years, but she felt the same sense o
f estrangement and caution.
“I did. That’s an interesting little treasure trove you have there.” She waited for his reaction. He nodded in acknowledgement, but said nothing more. “Tea?”
“Please.” He sat perfectly still and waited while she set the kettle on the stove.
“I learned a few interesting things today. In particular, you know who the Lord of Cogs is, but have done nothing about it despite the Crown’s—or more aptly—the BST’s stance on him and his Free Steam compatriots.”
He sighed. “You are correct. I find I disagree with the aggressive stance—detainment, persecution, and in some cases eradication—that the current BST leadership is taking. And since they do not know who he is, they cannot do anything about him or the FSP. The Lord of Cogs may be a symbol, but he is also the true leader of that group. Without him, the FSP would be directionless, leaving electricity to take over as the predominate energy source.”
Jo considered his words for a moment. “So, now the question of who tried to kill Griff is even more concerning. If it is the BST, then someone in leadership knows the truth. If it is not, then the situation could be even more dire…or completely ridiculous.” The kettle whistled and she automatically rose to pour the water into the tea pot. Silence ruled as the tea steeped until it was ready to pour. She did the honors still processing everything she had learned so far.
“I take it he had not told you who he was.” Holt took the hot porcelain cup from her and added milk and sugar to his tea.
“No, he neglected to mention that detail, even after I specifically asked if there was anything else I needed to know. I am displeased to put it lightly.” She sipped her own brew, hot and black.
“But he remains alive, I assume.”
“For the moment. However, I believe I am done with him.”
“Do not be so hard on the man. He has kept his secret for a long time. It cannot be an easy thing to trust someone who only recently tried to kill you.” Holt let one brow quirk up.
London Calling Page 9