A Study in Silks (20 page)

But one thing nagged at Evelina’s mind. She had no illusions that a gentleman’s son would want a magic user for a wife. She would have to keep her abilities secret forever.

She lifted her face from her hands, looking out her window over the back garden. She didn’t see the pale green of springtime trees as much as she did a fondly desired future. One in which magic and science held equal sway, and no
one cared how many biscuits she ate or whether she preferred fixing a clock to embroidering handkerchiefs. Where she could marry where she loved, or not at all. She allowed herself a plaintive sigh.
That, Evelina Cooper, is what fantasy looks like. There’s a murder to solve. Get to work
.

She immediately felt better. However morbid and terrifying, murder seemed easier to manage than suitors.

Where do I begin?
She knew Uncle Sherlock sometimes struggled to find clues. That wasn’t her problem. There were clues aplenty, but they all led to questions. What was Tobias doing last night, and why wouldn’t he talk about it? Was there a connection with the automatons? Who was Grace’s lover? Why was a penniless scullion carrying a fortune hidden in her clothes? Why had Nick chosen that moment, after five years, to visit?
And do I need to go to Ploughman’s to find out?

The questions flickered, a luminous web in her mind’s eye. She could almost see the connection from one to the next, but they eluded her vision if she looked at them too hard—almost like the afterimage of a bright candle in a dark room. The longer she stared, the blinder she became. It would be delicate work to tease those will-o-the-wisps into concrete facts, and that meant a lot of investigation.

But I have no authority to ask questions, because I am a young woman barely out of the schoolroom. As it is, I’m relying on a clockwork bird for help
.

And she wasn’t one-quarter as brilliant as Sherlock Holmes. One person had died already, and trying to solve the case herself carried the risk that her inexperience might put someone else at risk. She wanted to write to her uncle for advice.

But that had its own challenges. Her uncle was never so much invited into a case as unleashed on it. He would surely uncover dangerous secrets—just as she feared in the event Lestrade brought him in. Uncle Sherlock’s involvement could well negate any hopes Evelina had of protecting Imogen and her family. Even worse, he might decide a household visited by murder was unsafe, and insist she return
to the country to stay with Grandmamma Holmes. That was … categorically unthinkable.

She had to find a way to ask advice in a very limited fashion—only about the cipher. Puzzles and abstract problems were topics they corresponded about anyhow, and as such it would not arouse his curiosity, especially since he would make her figure it out herself. What she wanted was a clue as to the type of cipher she was looking at. She sat down at her desk, taking several pieces of writing paper from the drawer. Then she copied out the cipher text, careful to keep the nonsensical letters exact.

JEYRB AGZTL JLPWG WPPEF LEOZV ZI

HER UNCLE SIGNED THE LETTER WITH A SIMPLE
S
. EVELINA
refolded it, sliding it back into her pocket. A feeling of reassurance emanated from the heavy paper, easing the tension that knotted the back of her neck. Her uncle was a complicated man—just witness the terse explanation about her presentation—but he was as good an uncle as she could wish for. Except that she wished he’d solved the cipher for her instead of referring her to a book. She was no further ahead.

Her fingers brushed the other piece of paper in her pocket—a clipping from the
Prattler
that announced Ploughman’s was performing at the Hibernia Amphitheatre. She had told herself not to pay it any mind, but her fingers picked up the scissors and cut it out anyhow. For some reason, the prospect of being ushered into Society had made the urge to revisit the past almost painfully acute—and, if possible, even more unwise. If her past was found out, there would be no presentation, no Season, no future. If her magic was found out, that would be even worse. And yet … she couldn’t bring herself to throw the clipping away.

Light streamed into the morning room, bringing the soft greens and yellows to shimmering life. The place smelled of the freesias sitting in a blue and white jug Evelina had set on the windowsill. Outside of her own room, this bright haven was the place she spent the most time. As was often the case, today she had the room to herself.

The table where she worked was littered with small pieces of metal. Evelina had out her tiniest set of pliers and was trying to shape a scrap of gold wire to match the loops in a beaded necklace that had broken apart. It was an old piece and not particularly valuable, but she needed every bit of finery she had for the Season. Besides, working with her hands helped her to think.

She picked up a coral bead no bigger than a lentil and slid it over a piece of wire. With the pliers, she looped the wire
through the bottom chain of the necklace, leaving enough play so the bead could dangle freely.
We all love our pretty things, even poor Grace and her petticoat
.

An image of the girl’s dead body floated through her mind—bloody, still, and pale.
It’s been a whole day and I haven’t figured anything out yet
. A sense of urgency gnawed at Evelina, but she pushed it down, concentrating on the mechanical movements of her fingers. Panic wasn’t going to make her think any faster.
Think about the case. Blood. Corpses. Stolen treasure
. And she was going to have to figure it out on her own.

She tried to tell herself it was just as well she couldn’t talk to her uncle about the case, because then she would be tempted to explain about the magic she’d sensed on Grace’s package. She’d kept her abilities secret from the Holmes family, and not just because magic was banned. If Uncle Sherlock detested shoddy thinking, she cringed to imagine what he’d make of her fumbling descriptions of a nasty feeling in her tummy when she touched the envelope. No doubt that would end in a hysterical bout of opiates and bad violin.

“Hello.” Tobias wandered into the room, managing to look impeccably turned out and rumpled at the same time. Evelina was not sure quite how he managed it.

“Good morning.”

“You look like a goddess in that sunbeam, bent to your work.” He sprawled into the chair on the other side of the table, blocking her view of the garden. He was dressed in a dark brown jacket and forest green waistcoat, a golden watch chain dangling against the silk. “Perhaps a goddess of industry, or the sylph of gears. If only I could sketch. The sight of you there, so feminine and yet so ready to ply your tools, is enough to give a man improper fantasies.”

“Spare me.” Evelina felt a rush of heat claw up her cheeks, and she forced her gaze to the necklace. If she looked at him, her wits would turn to oatmeal. “Young men are most imaginative creatures.”

“You disapprove?”

She gave the wire a deft twist. “A pity so much good brainpower is squandered on idle yearnings.”

“It is entirely up to you whether or not my yearnings are idle.”

That made her look up, one eyebrow raised. Tobias flirted, but this was more obvious than usual. “I would never spoil your fun with disappointment.”

“Disappointment?” He leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “I doubt that, Evelina. It is not in you to disappoint.”

She froze, her pliers suspended in midair. It shocked her every time he used her name—and not just because first names were an intimacy between an unmarried man and woman, but because he made every syllable delicious, as if it were something made of cream.
Evelina
.

One corner of his mouth curled upward, giving a lopsided smile that was all charming self-mockery. He knew he was behaving like an ass and didn’t give a fig.

Confusion deepened until it was next door to anger. “Don’t waste my time.”

He leaned an inch closer, so she could feel the warmth of his skin just a touch away. “No need to bring out your prickles. I hear you’re going to the presentation. Congratulations.”

She lowered the tools, giving up trying to work. “Thank you.”

He pulled a box out of his pocket and slid it across the table. “I got you a present to celebrate. Anyone else I’d give flowers or a book of genteel poems, but you are a different kind of creature.”

Evelina knew very well that a gift from her friend’s handsome brother, no matter what, was in a very gray area of propriety. They shouldn’t be alone, and should never spar the way they did. And yet, there had always been an alliance between them, slight but steadily growing. Confidences, secrets. Such things led to breaking rules. The notion enticed and terrified her.

The box was plain paper, dull and gray. Cautiously, Evelina flipped up the lid with one finger. What she saw made her give a tiny start, as if the contents had emitted a spark. Tobias chuckled.

She lifted the lid, and scooped the box toward her with an
eager hand. She couldn’t help herself. Inside was a perfect, tiny piece of clockwork made of gleaming brass. “What is this?”

“German made. You said you wanted to try your hand at making moving toys.”

“Ah,” she said, happy and embarrassed. Tobias didn’t know about the bird, or any of the others that were close to complete. The half-living creatures weren’t something she could share.

“You’ve already mastered a lot, but I thought you might like another example to take apart anyhow.”

His voice had lost its teasing tone. They were on different ground now, a place for plans and projects they both shared and that few understood. Ladies didn’t work with mechanics, of course, but neither did a gentleman—at least not past the stage where it could be considered a passing whim. Blue bloods never dirtied their hands, lest they be considered vulgar.

Lord B’s aversion to his son’s tinkering was so severe that Tobias had hidden his workshop somewhere else in the city. And although the steam barons grew increasingly touchy about anyone but their own people making machines, Evelina still didn’t understand Lord B’s objections. Surely building engines was a better pastime than gambling and whoring, although Tobias did plenty of that, too. He was a versatile lad.

Well, clockwork was the one passion that they could safely share. Evelina dug into the box, closing her fingers around the cluster of cogs and springs. It was a generous gift. Even though the steam barons didn’t directly interfere with the buying habits of the gentry, good mechanical parts were becoming expensive and hard to get.

In some ways Tobias knew her better than anyone else. “Thank you so much.”

He fixed her with his gaze, disconcertingly direct. He was still leaning toward her, his head tilted at a considering angle. She could see the striations of his iris, the grays of ice and storm and mist. The huge purpling bruise around his
eye was pretty spectacular, too. “I’m glad you’re here this Season. Very glad.”