A Study in Silks (12 page)

Her hands stilled. Evelina sat for a long moment, watching the candlelight flicker along the walls, licking along the metal tops of perfume bottles and glinting off their cut crystal sides. The silence quieted her nerves, letting her think.

Her first and most urgent fear was for Imogen and her family. The death of a servant was bad, but those automatons reeking of dark magic made things much worse. Magic and murder would bring any family down, but Lord Bancroft had political ambitions. That meant he had enemies, at least some of them rich and powerful. If suspicion of sorcery fell on any member of the household, Bancroft’s ruin—and that of his wife and children—would be swift and complete.

The men would most likely be taken to prison, perhaps hanged, perhaps shut away forever. Imogen—beautiful and frail—would lose any chance of marriage. So would young Poppy. And Lady Bancroft—she was born and bred to be a woman of Society. What would someone like her do if she suddenly had no money and no friends?

I can’t let that happen
. Even if she wasn’t a real detective, there had to be something she could do. But how would she stop Lestrade and his investigation? What if he dragged her Uncle Sherlock into it? Lord Bancroft was a highly placed man, and Lestrade would be under pressure to make an arrest. He’d want to get it right, because a mistake involving a peer could sink a policeman’s career. Unless a solution came to hand right away, why wouldn’t Lestrade employ his best resources?

Evelina had to find out the truth before anyone else did, and if she could solve the murder, then there would be far less reason for anyone—like her uncle—to uncover Lord B’s secrets. That would give her a chance—somehow—to protect her friends. But common sense said that if she was ever going to find Grace Child’s killer—and perhaps the father of her child—Evelina had to learn where Grace had been, and why.

The task would not be simple. There might be a connection
between her murder and the magic Evelina had felt clinging to the envelope, or not. There might be a connection between the circumstances surrounding her death and the automatons in the attic, or not. Unfortunately, there was too little information to draw any satisfactory conclusions. As Evelina’s science-minded uncle would say, she needed data.

And she had the means to get it. She could know everything the police knew.

She swiveled in the chair and unlocked the hasps of the train case. The cover swung up smoothly, showing a lining of watered pink silk. Nestled in the spaces made for glass jars and bottles were what looked like small brass toys: miniature birds, mice, and even a tiny dog. Under the lift-out tray containing these little marvels was a neatly organized supply of gears and springs, watchmakers’ tools, and special magnifying eyeglasses to see their minuscule parts. They were expensive supplies, hard to come by and most of them salvaged wherever Evelina could find them.

There was also a collection of magical tools that Gran Cooper had given Evelina along with a promise to teach her their use once she grew into her power. One looked like a bracelet of twisted copper, another a wand no bigger than a pencil. There was a painted stone with a hole in it and a triangle of silver etched with tiny runes. Such objects were used only for the most powerful magic, and a student had to learn all the other spells first. Evelina had left Ploughman’s before that had ever happened, so the mysterious objects sat against the pink silk, a mystery too precious to part with. Someday, somehow, she would learn how they worked.

But she didn’t need them tonight. She dipped into the box, picking up the little bird. It nestled in the palm of her hand, barely four inches long. Her toys were all experimental designs, but this was the one she had labored over the longest. She’d given it eyes of paste emeralds and a beak that opened and closed to reveal a ruby-red tongue. A row of crystal chips tipped its wings. A useless bit of frippery, but the sparkle pleased her eye.

She had first learned her art from her father’s father, who
built coin-operated wonders for Ploughman’s Paramount Circus. Since then, she had devoured everything she could find on the subject and added her own twist. The same inherited powers that let her call flame from a cold candle could be used to animate the creatures.

Yes, magic was far from legal, but there were other, bigger implications.

These days, the steam companies had a stranglehold on almost every kind of machinery and the supply of parts, making it next to impossible for independent craftsmen to do their work. Only rich hobbyists, like Tobias, could afford their own workshops, and even he kept his out of sight. The less attention he attracted, the better.

The reason for the situation was simple: the steam barons didn’t want even a suggestion of competition. Rivals had unsuccessfully tried other inventions to produce power, such as the combustion engine, only to see their companies crumble beneath the steam lobby’s economic hammer. Others purported magic was the fuel of the future, but no one had yet successfully combined the supernatural with mechanics.

Except Evelina—which was why she worked in secret. When the time was right, her ideas might be the key to scholarly recognition and even financial independence, but she had to be careful not to move too soon. Nevertheless, this was the perfect opportunity to test her invention. She would never be allowed to join the official investigation of Grace Child’s murder, but she needed to know what Inspector Lestrade found out. Ergo, her little gimcrack toys to the rescue.

She raised the hand holding the bird and studied it, visualizing a real bird and imagining the wind and sun in its feathers. Slowly, she fell into the image, losing herself in a fantasy of the bird’s darting flight. Her vision broadened to take in a stream below, sparkling with white shards of light where the water tumbled over stones. Above, puffy white clouds seemed to snag in the leafy verdure of willow trees. She circled, sailing up into the green like another leaf caught in an upward draft.

With that strong, concrete image in her mind, she reached
out, seeking the half-conscious essence of a deva. It would have been easier in a garden. The only one nearby was slumbering beneath the flowers on her dressing table. It was small, even for a deva. When she reached out with her mind, she tasted the rich tang of earth and wood. Excellent. Earth devas were the easiest for her bloodline to work with. She hoped the little creature would be strong enough. With barely an effort, Evelina gently caught it in her Will.

She blew into the tiny beak, urging the deva into the tiny brass bird. The sleeping spirit drifted in, unawares. She sent her Vision of the flight along with it, giving it the dream of all a bird could do. A flare of light shone briefly in the emerald eyes, a spark of heat touched her palm. The metal began to warm as she held it.

The deva woke. Now she could feel it panic and struggle against her Will.

Help!
The whisper came low and urgent, but the voice was in her head. Her heart tugged, a little sorry for the bewildered spirit. No one liked waking up in a strange place.

“Sh!” she whispered in return. “It’s all right. You’re safe.”

What is this place? What is this prison? It’s hard and cold!

“I gave you a body.”

What for?
The voice was indignant now.
I was asleep. Minding my own business. Then, bam, I’m stuck in a brass duck! What the blazes is this about?

“Lark,” Evelina said automatically. “I made you a lark.”

There was a stony silence.
Not much of an artist, are you?

Irritation reared in Evelina’s heart, but she squashed it. The unfortunate thing about earth devas was their temper. They might be easy to catch and bend to one’s purpose, but they were vocal about it. There was always a price in magic, and earth devas exacted it with sarcasm the way a hedgehog protected itself with prickles.

Taking a calming breath, she spoke the words of the old bargain as her father’s mother, Gran Cooper, had taught her. “I summon you by Will and Vision to perform a task for me. If you do it well, deva, I shall set you free.”

Sullen silence was the bird’s only response. There was
just a shifting of the green eyes, which suddenly looked suspicious.

Evelina set the bird gently on the desk and retrieved a needle that had been poked into the lining of the train case. Catching her lip with her teeth, she pricked her finger deep enough that a bright ruby of blood welled up. She smeared it on the bird’s back. “With Blood I give thee strength.”

She lifted a glass vial from the case and shook some of the contents into her palm. It was tiny grains of aromatic balsam dried into a resin, perfect for a deva with an affinity for plants and green spaces. She sprinkled it over the bird. “With Tears of Trees I give thee wisdom.”

The bird flicked its wings, shedding the amber crumbs over the desk.

“With Words I give thee direction. Go, and come back to me with what I need to know.”

Picking up the bird again, she crossed to the window and opened it. “By Blood, Tears, and Words I direct thee. Go find Inspector Lestrade. Listen hard. Learn everything you can about the murder in the house tonight, then come back to tell me all. Do your best, and I shall reward you with wine and honey.”

Blackberry wine with honey stirred into it?

“If that is what you want.” Earth devas had a notorious sweet tooth. She wasn’t sure how beings of energy consumed solid food, but every offering she’d ever made had been gone within the hour.

The brass bird stirred to life in her hand, suddenly far more flexible than any metal had a right to be. Gears inside began to churn like a tiny heartbeat, the wings a flittering blur more like a hummingbird than a lark.

All right, maybe ornithology
should
be her next area of study.

Evelina slipped her hand out the window, gently cupping the creature. “Ready?”

What about cats?
The voice in her head was grumpy.

“You’re too fast for them.”

Are you sure? I’ve never had a body before. No one’s ever tried to eat me
.

“You’d break their teeth,” Evelina said dryly.

What if there’s a brass cat?

“You’re stalling.”

Am not
.

Impatient, she threw the bird into the air. It arced up and, for a horrible moment, she was sure it would crash to the ground. After all, Gran Cooper said her generation of old wives and wizards was the last who could do the binding. The Blood was too thin to carry on the tradition. Gran had said Evelina was the exception—but maybe she wasn’t. Maybe she didn’t have the necessary magic. But then suddenly the air caught the bird, the wings blurring with effort. Evelina’s lips parted, ready to shout with joy. It flew! All those hours pondering speed and weight and aerodynamics had paid off. Her design worked!

The flare of triumph heated her veins before fatigue rushed back to turn the emotion to ash. Too much had happened in one night to sustain even joy for long.

Evelina sank to her knees before the open window, leaning her elbows on the sill, her chin in her hands. The night air was cold and sweet, tasting of the uncomplicated freedom of childhood. She wondered if that would ever be hers again.

The bird streaked away, an errant scrap of gold, into the darkness.

THE NEXT DAY, TOBIAS APPEARED IN HIS FATHER’S STUDY
, summoned as peremptorily as if he were nine years old. The room, like everything else connected with the pater—Tobias couldn’t resist the disrespectful term, since it drove his father wild—was exactly what protocol demanded: dark, masculine, and slightly musty with the scent of leather and tobacco. A mantel clock kept up a steady, baritone
tock-tock
. Unlike many of the exuberantly ornate rooms in the house, this one had a plain coved ceiling with no mural or
gold leaf. Books lined the walls, punctuated with the severed heads of big game. The snarling tiger over the desk summed up everything about his dear old dad.

His father stood looking out the window, velvet curtains framing his silhouette. Made the first Viscount Bancroft for his services to the Crown, Emerson Roth exuded respectability like musk. Though his father’s hair had turned to an iron gray, his straight, lean form was that of a much younger man. Jove himself would have envied that commanding profile.