A Study in Darkness (44 page)

“Probably not, especially if we run into Mary or Gareth. They’d want every detail and then some before they’d leave us alone.”

That made him furrow his brow. “I know a better place. Do you mind?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say she’d follow him anywhere, but she simply shook her head. Despite their kisses, they had agreed to take things slowly and already she was racing ahead.

He took her arm and began leading her away. She saw he had taken care with his appearance, although the waistcoat he wore tonight looked as if it was made of leather heavy enough to deflect a blade, and when she took his arm she felt the unmistakable shape of a sheath beneath his sleeve. Obviously, he wasn’t as comfortable wandering the streets as he had been swanning about the market.

He walked confidently down the street, but his gaze never stopped scanning every doorway. His watchfulness made
Evelina uneasy, and she tightened her grip on his arm. He was warm and the night chill, and she found herself walking as close to him as she possibly could. She’d missed having the company of someone who might protect her.

“What do you do when you’re not scouring the clouds for prey?” she asked.

“Buying and selling,” he said. “Mostly around here.”

“You already told me what you sell. What do you buy?”

“Supplies. A lot of food. You’d be astonished at how much Striker eats.”

They laughed at that and turned the corner, and then turned another. The cats in these alleys were large and well fed, which said something about the rat population.

“Where are we going?” she asked, a little cautiously.

“Definitely not my lady’s drawing room,” he said dryly. “Are you up for a bit of adventure?”

She gave him a hard look. “Are you playing a prank on me?”

“No.” His face was so close to hers, she felt his breath. “I’m not sure what you’re used to anymore.” He said it like a dare—almost like they were children again.

“I’ve not grown so fainthearted as all that,” she said tartly.

He flashed a grin. “Then don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He unwound her arm from his, but gave her fingers a kiss before he released her.

They had stopped in a narrow street between two rows of brick warehouses. Nick approached the back of one building and knocked on a low, narrow door. A metal panel slid open, showing an eye and cheek, and then slid shut again. A moment later a latch rattled and the door swung open, revealing a short stairway down into what must have once been a cellar.

Nick turned, holding out his hand. “It makes up in personality what it lacks in decor.”

Evelina stepped forward to see a smoky room stained with yellow light. She took a deep breath before stepping down the stairs to the stone floor of an underground tavern. The door closed above with a bang and the clatter of locks.

“Welcome to the Indifference Device,” Nick said, raising
his voice to be heard over the babble of conversation. “I think you’ll agree that it’s an excellent name for a tavern.”

“I had no idea this was here,” Evelina replied.

“It’s off the steam barons’ grid.”

Which meant it was unlicensed, either supplying its own power or doing without—mostly the latter, from what she could see. The ceiling was barely taller than the patrons, heavy beams crisscrossing the room and adding to the oppressive feel of the place. The atmosphere was so thick with smoke, one might have been looking through a tobacco-brown sea. She had an impression of top-hatted silhouettes, straggling curls, and women stripped down to their stays and petticoats. Liquor flowed, and yet the atmosphere was more flirtatious than predatory. Here and there, she heard the sound of heated debate, but tempers were calm.

“Who are these people?” she asked.

“Students, anarchists, the odd rebel,” he said wryly. “Once in a while, a pirate.”

“I’ve heard a lot about the rebels since I got here,” Evelina said. “Just casual chat in the Ten Bells.” The East End was rife with anarchists, socialists, and suffragists, though few made any headway against the Blue King. Evelina surveyed the crowd. “I don’t recognize anyone here. Am I looking at soldiers or students of philosophy?”

“These are talkers,” Nick said, his lips close to her ear. “This is too open for the real ringleaders.”

The cramped hole in the ground didn’t feel public to her, but she obediently followed when he led her to a small, greasy table by the wall. He held her chair as she sat. “Notice how I take you to the best places.”

“The singing’s not as good as the opera, but the company is better.”

He gave her a quizzical look. “You have left the ballroom behind. The last time I spoke to you, I never thought to find you in a place like this.”

Evelina looked around pointedly. “You were the one who brought me here.”

He gave her a pained look and was about to retort when the barmaid approached.

“Old Nick,” she said, her voice teasing. She gave Evelina a look that catalogued every detail with frank curiosity.

“Tess,” he said, a hint of steel in his tone.

But her smile was irrepressible. She was no more than sixteen, her skin still rosy with extreme youth. “What will it be?” she asked, tossing her head.

“Your best.”

“Coming up.” She flounced away.

Nick leaned across the table, catching Evelina’s hand. “I need to ask you a question. One of the hard ones.”

All at once, the familiar grin was gone. His face was stern, his eyes direct. This was a side of him she didn’t know. Apprehension flooded her. Her fingers twitched under his hand, but he only clasped them tighter. “All right,” she said. It was little more than a whisper.

He didn’t waver. “You said you were here because Keating sent you. That you got on his bad side.”

“Correct.”

“What happened?”

She didn’t want to answer, and he saw it.

“Evelina?”

“I don’t want to drag you into my problems.”

His gaze softened. “If they’re yours, they’re mine. That’s how it’s always been.”

She looked away, suddenly suffocating in the smoky room. She’d managed everything so far, but it had been bravado carrying her forward. Like a rope dancer, if she stopped moving, she might fall. She was suddenly afraid to reach out to Nick. His dark gaze was enough to make her stumble as it was.

“Don’t you trust me anymore?” he asked, voice flat.

“It’s not that.”

“Then why did you agree to come here?”

She took a deep breath, and then blurted it out. “As I said last night, Keating threatened Uncle Sherlock.”

Nick’s forehead wrinkled. “That’s why you’re in the Blue King’s territory?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t think Holmes could look after himself?”

“He’s not invincible. He was nearly killed in a bombing. A man had him at gunpoint.”

Nick leaned an inch closer, worried now. “At gunpoint? What happened?”

“I hit the gunman with a broom.”

Nick burst into laughter. Tess came back at that moment, clattering a pair of glasses and a jug of wine. She set them down without ceremony and left again, every line in her body etched with curiosity.

Nick was still chuckling.

“It’s not funny!” Evelina snapped.

“Yes, it is.” He sobered, the change almost instant. “But that can’t be the whole story. What does Keating want?”

“He wanted me to convince Uncle Sherlock to disguise himself and blend into the Blue King’s district. I said I would do it instead. That I could do a better job, given my background—which he knew about somehow. And then Keating said he’d let the next assassin who tried for my uncle have him if I didn’t do what he asked. He’ll ruin me, my family, whatever suits him to get what he wants.”

Nick’s brows furrowed, a mix of anger and sympathy. “What is Keating looking for?”

She hesitated, but Nick gave her another pointed look. She gave in. “The Blue King’s maker and his army. Imogen overheard Keating and the Scarlet King. It sounds like there’s going to be a war between the barons.”

Nick sat back, clearly thinking that over. She felt his attention turn inward, and it felt like a warm blanket being drawn away. She shivered, and that brought his focus back to her in an instant. He poured out the wine, pushing a glass her way. “Do you care which baron wins?”

She hadn’t expected that question. “No. I wish the whole Steam Council would melt in their own boilers, but most of all I want Keating to leave us alone.”

Nick’s dark eyes studied her over the rim of his glass. “Us?”

Her stomach fluttered. “Me. My uncle. Imogen’s family. Keating’s even using his own daughter as a pawn in his games.”

“Tobias Roth?”

She refused to flinch. “Him as well.”

“Have you found anything out about the Blue King’s forces?”

Evelina took a sip of the harsh wine, stalling. “I have seen no evidence of his army, but I might have found his maker.” That made him lean forward again, reclaiming her hand. “Oh?”

She studied Nick’s face, dread flooding her. The trust between them had been battered so many times, keeping secrets now would crush it forever—but telling the truth might be almost as bad. Evelina closed her eyes as if dodging a blow. “Didn’t Striker tell you who sent me to the Saracen’s Head?”

Nick’s voice was tight. “Symeon Magnus. He was going to be my next hard question.”

She opened her eyes slowly, tears already prickling in her throat. “I’ve gone to work for him. It seemed the best way to learn what he did, where he went, that sort of thing.” Her voice was small and filled with apology.

Nick’s face tightened. “You know what he is.”

“He hasn’t changed. He’d use me to get to you and the casket if he could.”

“I’m sure he would.” Nick released a huge breath. “I could shake you silly for taking such a risk.” The words were mild, but the anger in his voice was like hot coals. They made her skin twitch and she shrank back in her chair.

“But I have to prove whether or not he’s the maker, and not just for my uncle’s sake.”

“Why?”

“Think about it.” Regaining her equilibrium, she picked up her glass. Confidence was easier with Nick and all the rebels around her. “Think about who the doctor is and what he can do, and then imagine that in the hands of a baron.”

Nick’s expression changed as that soaked in. “Death magic.”

Evelina leaned forward. “He’s quite capable of creating intricate clockwork—that longcase clock in Hilliard House is his work—but it’s not his prime area of interest. He likes
making machines work through sorcery. Right now he has a troupe of dancing automatons. And one is sentient.”

“Then what the bloody hell is he building for the Blue King?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “And I have no idea where to look.”

Nick picked up his own glass and clinked it against hers.

“But I do.”

Evelina nearly spluttered wine. That was Nick, always catching her off guard. “You do?”

“But if I tell you, are you going to run off and tell the Gold King?” She felt him tense, as if the knot was in her own gut. “Will it make you any safer than you are now?”

“The only thing that will make me truly safe is if I find a secret to hold over Keating’s head.”

“And then what will you do?”

It was the question she’d most wanted to avoid—not because Nick asked it but because she could not bear to ask herself. “This is the first time I’ve been my own person. Here, in Whitechapel. And yet …” She looked away, afraid to meet his eyes. “If I’m brutally honest, I don’t belong here. The only reason I survived until Magnus offered me work was because I have money from Keating. I’m not really poor, and yet I still miss so many comforts. I miss my books, and my uncle, and I would miss the opportunity to go to college. I want all the freedom this life has to offer, and all the beauty of what I left behind.” She finished on a weak little laugh. “That’s hardly noble, is it?”

“I wouldn’t want to be scraping by again, either. I’ve done all right, and I’ll be the first to say there’s nothing wrong with wanting a full stomach and a clean bed.”

She bowed her head, grateful for his words. “I just wish I could have all that and be myself as well.”

His face was a mask. “So what will you do?”

“Will you be here?”

“I’m a leaf in the wind, Evie. But if you want me, I’ll be wherever you like as much as I can. I’ve never had a reason to stay anywhere before, but if anyone can bind me to a place, it would be you.”

Is that what either of us truly wants?
It was too soon to know. In truth, they hadn’t spent any time together since she had left Ploughman’s to become a lady, but she wasn’t going to gainsay his words. Instead, she leaned across the table and brushed her lips against his cheek. “Thank you for still wanting me.”

For the briefest instant, Nick actually looked flustered, but he regained his poise before she’d settled back into her chair, the taste of him still on her lips.

“I’ve kissed you,” he said slowly, “but you’ve never kissed me.”

“Perhaps you’re an acquired taste,” she said lightly, although her insides were quaking. She was not shy, but she knew she’d erased a line between them, and had no idea what she had invited across that protective boundary.

Losing Tobias had wounded her heart. With Nick, everything was more fundamental than that. He was a reference point, a touchstone for every instinct she possessed. They had been made from the same clay. She suddenly understood that if she lost him again—finally, irrevocably this time—she would lose a good part of herself.

“I’ve always wanted to be compared to Roquefort cheese.” He turned the glass slowly where it sat, the foot of it scraping against the pitted tabletop. It was a nervous habit she knew of old, and it meant that he was searching for words. “I’ve done a lot of traveling lately,” he said in a low voice. “One thing about being in my line of work, you do get out and about and meet a lot of interesting people. In a few short months, I’ve talked to lascars and scholars, nobles and beggars, all wanting what I have to sell. And you know, Evie, you’re the only person I know who sees the world the same way as I do.”

Even though she had been thinking in the same vein, the intensity of his tone made her skittish. “We grew up together, but we’ve been apart for a long time. There is a lot about me you don’t know.”