The Clockwork Wolf (16 page)

“I don't bake at all. The building was used as a granary before I bought it, and the scent of the wheat they stored here has never entirely disappeared.” I gestured to the nicest chair I owned. “Do sit down. I'll just go and change—”

“Please don't trouble yourself on my account. I have intruded on your privacy, and . . .” She pressed her gloved fingers to her lips and swallowed. “Forgive me, but might I impose on you to use your lavatory?”

I saw the beads of perspiration pop out on her brow
and gestured quickly. “It's right through here, milady.”

I showed her to the loo, and then stood outside and listened for a moment to the coughing and retching sounds she made before I returned to the sitting room. A few minutes later she rejoined me, apologizing again as she sat down and clasped her hands so tightly I thought the stitching in her gloves would pop.

“Annie told me that you have been seeing a physick in town,” I said carefully. “You do look very ill. Might I summon a carri to take you to his office?”

“He can do nothing for me, Kittredge.” She blotted her mouth with a lace-edged kerchief. “What I suffer is a natural condition, and in time, it will pass. One way or another.” She saw my expression and crumpled the lacy linen in her fist. “As you have already guessed.”

I nodded. “When do you expect your confinement?”

“Sometime in the fall, if I live that long.” She regarded me steadily. “At my age there is no guarantee of that, of course. I barely survived the conception.”

That was why she had waited a week before sending for me, why she had worn such heavy face paint, and walked like such an old woman. “Your husband attacked you.”

“That
thing
was not my husband,” she snapped. “But yes, yes it did. It came into my bedchamber, pinned me down, and had its way with me. It pummeled me and clawed me, and then it ran off into the night like the beast it was, attacking and murdering every poor soul in its path.”

Now I felt sick. “I'm so sorry, milady. Truly.”

“Terrance and I tried to have a family all the years of our marriage, but we could not. As much as I loathe the creature he became, he gave me a child.” She ducked her
head. “If it is in fact a child. I hardly know what to think, given what its father became.”

“Magic made your husband into that beast, milady,” I told her. “I believe Lord Bestly was deceived by a powerful mage, who for his own evil purposes forced the unnatural transformation on his lordship.”

I expected my theory to shock and horrify Lady Bestly, and imagined she would have to use my loo again straightaway. Yet after a moment of visible confusion she only shook her head. “That could not be done to Terrance. He distrusted and despised magic and anyone who practiced it. He would not tolerate a mage in his presence. Indeed, the few times that Lord Dredmore called on me, my husband became so agitated he left the house.”

And with that she threw my theory into the gutter—unless Lord Bestly had worried that a mage might expose him. “You are certain his prejudice was genuine?”

“Absolutely. In his youth Terrance was swindled by a mage who convinced him that unclean spirits haunted several of my husband's properties,” she said. “The mage persuaded Terrance to sell him the properties for a pittance, as he claimed he could only use his power to force out the ghosts if the properties belonged to him. Once they were gone, he promised on his honor to sell them back to Terrance at the same price.”

His greed must have overcome his common sense. “None of this was put in writing, I suppose.”

“As I said, my husband was young and unfortunately, very trusting. The mage immediately sold all the properties for an enormous profit, took the money, and
vanished. My husband was almost ruined, and worse, made a laughingstock.” She touched the wedding ring she still wore. “I think he would have done harm to himself if we had not met.”

Or if your dowry had not been so large,
I thought with a tinge of cynicism. “The mage who did this to your husband may not have presented himself as a practitioner of magic. He probably would have gained his trust by posing as a gentleman or some other sort of intimate acquaintance. Before he died, did Lord Bestly mention to you any new particular friends?”

“He did not discuss such matters with me.”

“I see.” No, I didn't. New acquaintances were discussed endlessly on the Hill; it was how they assured no unworthy soul penetrated the iron ranks of their society—and their vetting process began at home.

“You have an unsavory interest in my private affairs,” Lady Bestly snapped suddenly, as if I'd somehow insulted her. Before I could apologize her shoulders sagged. “No, I do not mean to say that. You have been remarkably tolerant, while I . . . I have acted disgracefully.”

“Milady, what happened in the past is done.”

“I do not refer to the past, Kittredge.” She gave me a direct look. “I have lied to you more than once about my communications with my husband. He did not discuss his new friends with me because he barely spoke two words to me. Just before he died I discovered he was no longer spending his nights at home, and had not been for months. I checked his bank account books, and found he had regularly withdrawn large sums of money this past year as well.”

I nearly groaned out loud; why had she concealed all this from me? “Did you confront him about it?”

“I already knew what it was,” she said. “He was living at his club and spending inordinate amounts of money, probably on a younger woman. Even if he hadn't died, Terrance would have left me anyway.”

“Or he was being swindled by another mage,” I suggested. “One who was far more clever than the first. Under such influence, your husband might not have even known what he was doing.”

A glimmer of determination appeared in her eyes. “You must find out the truth of it, Kittredge. For my sake as well as my child's. We have no hope of a future without it.”

I promised Lady Bestly I would call on her as soon as I had something new to report, and asked Connell to summon a carri-cab to take her back to the Hill. As I watched Dredmore's man escort her out to the curb, the glare of the sun made me squint at the horizon. In a handful of hours twilight would fall, and the Aramanthan would again be able to roam about freely and use his powers. Sooner than that Dredmore would arrive, and I was still traipsing about in my dressing gown.

I'd never felt more useless as I turned to go to my dressing room. Being female was bad enough, but now I was a female in danger. Dredmore would lock me up and toss away the key, unless . . .

“I have a message for his lordship,” I said, testing the words. “An urgent message for his lordship.”

I walked past Harry as he was rematerializing,
stopped, and turned. “Do you have any useful magic during the daylight?”

“I can sit and listen to you natter on with that evil-minded harpy like she's as dear to you as your own mother.” He folded his semitransparent arms. “If you weren't my own blood I'd believe you'd been spelled.”

“You knew I was working for Lady Bestly before today.” I went into my dressing room to find the appropriate costume.

“Aye, I knew the name, not the face that went with it,” he called after me. “I watched everything she did to you eight years ago. I know exactly who she is.”

“Who she
was,
” I corrected as I took out a somewhat shabby suit and cap from the back of my armoire. “Now she's a pregnant widow fighting for her child and her life. That's who I'm working for.” As Harry muttered something vile I added, “Besides eavesdropping on extremely private conversations that are none of your business, what more can you do?”

“I can leave.”

“Wait, don't do that.” I dressed as fast as I could and came out. “Harry, I need to get into— Ah, sorry.” I backed a few steps away from Connell. “I like to talk to myself when I'm alone. Silly habit, really.”

“It's me,” Connell said in Harry's voice as he inspected himself. “You'd never know it to look at him, but he's fast as a snake and strong as an ox. In this body I could run round the city a few times before sunset.”

It took all my self-control not to slug him. “Harry, get out of that man. Right this minute.
Harry.
”

“Stop being so bloody dramatic. You know I won't
keep him.” He moved his head from side to side. “As if I'd spend the next fifty years serving the devil himself.” He regarded me. “You wanted to get past him. It's this or cosh him over the head, and with this lad's training, you'd never get close enough to take the first swing.”

I could have argued the point, but Harry usually kept his promises to me, and Connell would have no memory of being overtaken by my grandfather's spirit. “You will not let anything happen to Mr. Connell. If he winds up with so much as a bruise on his knuckles, our partnership is dissolved for good.”

“No scratching the carri, got it.” He gave me a cheeky grin that looked ridiculous on Connell's face. “So where to, miss?”

I jammed the messenger's cap over my damp curls. “The White Lupine.”

Of course Harry didn't drive anything but horses, so I had to take the wheel of the hired carri. Fortunately in my messenger's garb I didn't attract the notice I certainly would have dressed as a female. Under city regulations, an unmarried woman could not apply for a driving permit, and a married woman could have one only if her husband signed his consent. Few were issued, as it was a common misconception among the men of the city that females were incapable of adequately operating mechanized transport.

Due to various emergency circumstances I'd risked driving a carri a few times—generally borrowing Bridget's carri when I did so I could produce her permit if stopped—but any beater who spied a young lass like me perambulating round town would give chase until they could jump on the back and order me to the curb—and the very last thing I needed now was to be arrested.

Naturally Harry made himself helpful by sitting beside me on the driver's bench and criticizing every turn I made. “You're cutting the corners too close. Look out for that chap there with the barrow. Slow down before you lose control of this bloody contraption.”

“I know you'll survive being thrown under the wheels, Grandfather,” I said through my teeth. “But I'll enjoy squishing you anyway.”

Harry made a rude sound. “And I thought you liked this Connell lad.”

Once I reached Rosings Park I slowed enough so I could examined the buildings on the other side of Mission Street. Most appeared to be vacant with boards on the windows and padlocks on the doors, but I spotted the glow of lights from inside one blackstone in the center of the block, and pulled to the curb opposite the front entry. I looked up and down the street but saw no sign of Dredmore's coach.

“Well?” Harry said after several minutes. “Are we going in or sitting here?”

“
I'm
going in.
You're
staying with the carri.” I climbed down and straightened my jacket. “If I'm not back out by sunset, find Dredmore and tell him where I am.”

“I'll do no such thing,” he blustered, climbing down after me. “I'm going with.”

“No one uses two couriers to send a message.” I rubbed my forehead. “Harry, you know what I do for a living. For God's sake, shut up and let me do it.”

He glowered. “If you're not out of there in thirty minutes, I'm coming in after you. It's as simple as that.”

“Fine.” I stalked across the street.

After I rang the bell I pulled my cap down an inch to better shade my face and thrust my hands into my pockets. Only a few seconds passed before the door opened and the scent of a pungent herb made me sneeze. Before I could apologize, a cadaverous-looking butler in black glared down his bony nose at me.

“No soliciting,” he intoned as he began to close the door again.

“I been sent to deliver a message.” Quickly I stepped up and put a foot on the threshold. “Urgent business.”

The butler hesitated. “Well? What is it?”

“Confidential, sir.” I tried to sound polite and scornful at the same time. “I'm to give it directly or not at all.”

“To whom?” A loud burst of laughter from inside distracted the butler, who muttered under his breath before he tugged me inside and slammed the door. “Wait here,” he said before he hurried off into a corridor.

I took in the front foyer, which was guarded by two massive brass standing urns filled to overflowing with white flowers. A expected portrait of the queen hung above one of the urns; the law required an image of Herself prominently displayed in any meeting place. No dust covered the frame, but there were odd bunches of some white-green dried leaves I didn't recognize affixed to the four corners. A step closer confirmed the funny smell was coming from them, and more of the leaves tucked in among the urns.

I reached into the urn, plucking out some of the leaves and tucking them into my jacket pocket. I'd show them to Harry later; he'd know if they had any magical properties.

Since this was a gentlemen's club, I expected to see painting or portints of the founders and more important members, but not a single portrait adorned the hall. Instead the heads of several wild animals sprung from the carved plaques; they were probably hunting trophies. I wandered over to a table on which a stuffed bobcat snarled silently at nothing and couldn't resist touch the striped, spotted fur. It was not as soft as it looked, and
the cold, solid feel of the body beneath it reminded me I was handling a dead thing.

Lord Bestly had once been a keen hunter, judging by the number of trophies he'd collected as a lad. Perhaps he'd created the club to relive his childhood glories with like-minded chums. The longer I stood in the place, however, the more it bothered me—and not because I was a woman in disguise.