The Spiritglass Charade (22 page)

I was out of breath, restricted by the lacings around my torso, hampered by layers of skirt and petticoats. My gown became heavy and sodden, and I floundered in the depths, trying to reach the surface. Then my face broke into the fresh night air. I gasped, trying to gulp in more air before I sank again.

My arms moved frantically, my legs slogging amid tangled skirts. I knew how to swim, but I was weighted down . . . sinking into the cold darkness.

Suddenly, something grabbed me. I kicked out, struggling, grasping . . . but was too weak and tangled to have much effect. My lungs burned from holding my breath. When fresh air once again spilled over my face, I coughed and dragged oxygen into my restricted lungs. Strong hands pulled me out of the water. My vision was blurred, and I gasped, desperate to breathe, but my torso was banded too tightly.

I sagged weakly to the ground, the energy drained from my limbs. Blackness closed over me. Everything was tight, growing tighter, stiffer, closer. . . .

I felt a yank, a violent jolting at the front of my bodice.
Jolt, jolt, jolt
. My body jerked with each movement.

“Bloody . . . damned . . . corsets . . . ,” growled my rescuer.

And then . . . 
ahh!
Everything loosened. I dragged in my first deep breath in what seemed like hours—clean and cool and sweet.

The face of my savior was partly illuminated by a gaslight, making him appear golden and shadowy all at once. Water dripped from his curling coppery hair as he glared down at me, panting for breath of his own.

“What . . . the
devil
 . . . did you think . . . you were . . . doing . . . Miss Holmes?” Grayling demanded.

“I. . . .” I was still gasping for air. He was looking down at me as if he wanted to throw me back into the river. And yet his expression made me feel warm and fluttery. Or maybe it was just the new breaths of oxygen.

“Chasing after a bloody . . . thief,” he continued. “Blasted foolish . . . thing to do.”

“He was getting . . . away. I had to . . . stop him.”

“He had a knife!”

I could feel the blood seeping from my arm. “I didn't know that. Someone had to—”

“You almost
drowned
. Bat-headed female.”

Grayling glared down at me, his breathing slower and deeper now. His mouth was tight and I could see his jaw shifting. Water plopped onto my cheeks and chest from his hair and clothing, yet it didn't seem to matter. He was close to me, propped on the grass, leaning over. Warmth seeped through layers of wet clothing into my hip and arm. His white shirt clung to his torso and I could see the outline of his shoulders
and arms. They were surprisingly muscular for such a tall, lanky person.

He was looking at me strangely, and when my gaze was caught by his, I suddenly couldn't breathe again. I thought for a minute he was going to . . . move closer. My mouth went dry and I almost stopped breathing again. Then I looked away, my heart pounding sharply in my chest.

“I've been expecting a report from you,” I managed to say, frantically collecting my thoughts. My throat felt as if it needed to be cleared. “About the Yingling case.”

“A report?” His voice was strangled and he sat upright. “From me? For you? Miss Holmes, you are the most—”

His exclamation was aborted when a ball of fur blasted into the area, barking and yapping wildly. Long ears flopped on my face and claws scraped my arm as Angus leapt and bounded around us. His puppy weight settled on my belly, his tail slapping furiously against my jaw.

“Angus,” Grayling said, in a much nicer tone than he employed with me but nevertheless filled with irritation. “Get off. Get
off
.”

He dragged the excited canine away and I took the opportunity to sit up. As I did so, gravity pulled my corset away. I reacted with an embarrassing squeak and clapped a hand back to my chest, pulling the two halves of the ruined garment into proper position. Fortunately, Grayling seemed too occupied with Angus to notice. Thank fortune I was wearing a dark undergarment beneath my sheer bodice, or—
gad
.

I stopped the rest of that thought. I couldn't even consider what might have happened otherwise, what Grayling might have seen beneath my suddenly loosened corset and the transparent fabric of my shirt. It was bad enough that he'd practically undressed me.

“You ruined my new corset.” I staggered to my feet, still holding the sagging undergarment in place. Droplets of water flung everywhere. Angus leapt up at me, eager for attention, and I patted him on the head. It wasn't his fault his master was an expert at annoying me.

“My apologies,” Grayling said stiffly, also rising as excited voices approached. “Next time, I'll let you gasp for air like a beached fish and hope you don't drown in the meanwhile.”

Before I could make some sort of smart retort, he flung something dark and heavy—and dry—over my shoulders. I took his coat while holding my corset in place and managed to pull it over my sodden clothing, wincing only slightly at the pain in my arm.

“Mina! What happened?”

Huddling under Grayling's coat I turned to see Dylan rushing down the path. He was accompanied by the rest of our party . . . and a small crowd of others. But Evaline was missing, drat it.

“I was chasing a thief. We struggled, and I fell into the river.”

“And got a bit of a slice in the process.” Grayling was still dripping and Angus was still bounding around—although
now he had a variety of newcomers upon which to employ his paws.

“Chasing a thief? Do you mean you were running after him?” a male voice said in shock.

“You should have called for help,” agreed another. “There were plenty of people around.”

“I've never heard of anything so . . . 
improper
,” a female whispered loudly enough to be certain I heard. “Chasing a thief. Running alone down a dark path. Young ladies have lost all sense of decorum in this day!”

“Proper young women don't
run
. They wait for assistance. Call for help.”

“And they certainly don't fight. What was she thinking?”

Murmurs of agreement rose and I felt my temper rising as well. I didn't even look at Grayling, for hadn't he said the same dratted thing? Calling me a
bat-headed female
?

In my entire life,
no one
had dared insult my intelligence. My long nose, my graceless limbs, even my tone of voice and pedantic lectures . . . but never my intelligence.

“Come on, Mina,” Dylan said, putting an arm around me. “Let's get you home.”

I spared a brief thought for Miss Stoker's whereabouts and a farewell pat on the head for Angus—but not even a backward glance for the man whose coat I was wearing.

Inspector Grayling could drip all the way home in his sodden clothing for all I cared.

D
ylan helped me into the cab and I settled onto its seat. Fortunately, it was a midsummer's night and I wasn't cold as much as bedraggled and out of sorts. Yet I shuddered at the unattractive picture I must have made, even in the shadows.

I wasn't attractive on a good day, with my long, slender Holmesian nose and my too-long limbs and angular figure. But now I knew I must have looked hideous. My fetching little hat was gone and my corset was ruined. My injured arm was bound up, but there were bloodstains on my glove. I didn't even want to imagine the state of my hair.

“Are you all right? Are you cold?”

“No,” I said, wishing I was. Perhaps then I could move closer to him, and . . . no, of course not. What on
earth
was I thinking? Here I was, half-clothed—thanks to that annoying Grayling. . . .

“You could have drowned.
Seriously
. You could have
drowned
.”

“I know how to swim.” Even to my own ears my defense sounded weak.

He shook his head, his eyes fastened on me from across the carriage. “You chased that thief without even thinking about the danger to yourself. And you must have really held on to him. . . . Like a barnacle or something.” He gave an admiring laugh. “You're an awesome piece of work, Mina.”

“Is that good?” I thanked Providence it was night and he couldn't see the color of my burning cheeks.

“Definitely. It means you're so cool and so different and unique and awesome . . . and yet challenging at the same time. It's a good thing.”

“Right,” was all I could manage. “Thank you.”

“I know I've told you this before, but in my time, women aren't treated the same way they are now—told to sit and do nothing. Just get married and have kids. It's not like that.” His eyes gleamed in the low light. “Don't listen to what those jerks were saying back there. They don't know what they're talking about. Some men wouldn't even have chased after that thief. You were really brave.”

I was aware of an unfamiliar emotion bubbling up inside me. Warm and fluttery, it stole my breath. “Thank you.”

I had no experience with this sort of dialogue—with anyone, and certainly not with a young man. My father hardly said two words to me. My uncle, on the other hand,
constantly lectured and demanded I do more and better. My mother—There
had
been times of soft words, a gentle touch. Even encouragement.

Fighting off the weakness of grief—I would never allow myself to become like Willa Ashton, desperately holding on to someone I'd lost—I drew in a long, shaky breath and tried to think of a way to change the subject. I needed to ask if he had seen Evaline—for I had not before being bustled off to the carriage under the disapproving eyes of the crowd.

Before I could speak, Dylan moved to sit on my side of the carriage. I wasn't crowded when he settled next to me, likely sitting on my sodden skirts, his arm brushing warm against mine. Before I could react and explain how improper this was, he took my hand.

“I suppose this is totally improper,” he said, reading my mind. “Me sitting so close to you. Us alone in the carriage.”

I swallowed. I was no longer the least bit chilled. “It is.”

He squeezed my hand tighter, and I became aware of how large his fingers were. How warm and sturdy. His thumb began to move over the top of my gloved one, and I could feel the gentle caress through the bloodstained, damp leather.

“You know . . .” Dylan's voice sounded odd, and his fingers twitched a little. “If we were in my time, I'd want to date you.”

“Date me? Do you mean, determine how old I am? I don't mind telling you that; you don't have to guess. I'm seventeen, and—”

I stopped because he was chuckling, his eyes narrowed with humor, his fingers loosening. “Ah, Mina. Thank you. I needed something to break the ice.”

I was grateful for the change of mood as well, and I smiled at him. The next thing I knew, he moved closer to me. His hand slid around the back of my head, his fingers into my soggy, sagging hair.

And he kissed me.

I
slipped away from Mr. Ashton at the earliest opportunity, determined to track down the disreputable Pix, who kept turning up like a bad coin. But though I searched for over an hour, I couldn't find him.

As I wandered down the path from the Oligary's Observation Cogwheel, a fireworks display exploded above. Moments later amid the popping sounds, I heard shouts of “Stop, thief!”

Ah. I'd found Pix.

I smiled grimly and started over toward the cries, aware that the night had cooled a little. As I came around the corner of a deserted pathway, I saw two people struggling on a small bridge over the river.

Blooming fish! Was that Mina Holmes?

She looked ridiculous, clutching the hem of the thief's coat, her tall, slender body jerking and swaying as he attempted
to shake her free while running away. Then a glinting blade slashed down toward her arm.

Oh no
, Mina!

I was too far away to help.
Pix, you fool!
What was he thinking?

I ran faster.

Then the two battling figures fell off the bridge.

By the time they hit the water, I was at the shore. Two heads emerged and I identified Mina's. With a wave of relief, I realized her assailant wasn't Pix after all. I was just about to jump in to drag her out when another man ran from the shadows, stripping off his coat.

He dove into the water, a yapping puppy with long ears on his heels. I recognized Inspector Grayling by his height and curling gingery hair. Good. He could be the one to pull Mina out of the water.

That way
he'd
get her lecture, telling him everything he'd done wrong.

I watched as the thief paddled toward the opposite shore, where I waited in the shadows. When he slogged onto the grass some distance from the bridge, I was waiting for him.

He didn't have a chance. In a trice, I relieved him of the knife he still gripped, as well as the three drawstring purses and two wallets tucked into his pockets. Then I tossed him back into the river.

Valuables recovered. Thief submerged. And I hadn't even broken a sweat.

Mina and Grayling had been joined by others on the opposite shore and I hurried across the bridge. Skirting the back of the crowd, I placed the stolen items where they'd be found. I didn't want to rejoin our group, but I needed to make certain Mina wasn't injured. Since she was lecturing Grayling, I decided it was safe for me to leave.

I turned to go and glimpsed a familiar figure in the crowd. Miss Adler?

Craning my neck, standing as tall as I could, I peered through the throng. But the person I'd noticed was gone, or else I'd been mistaken. If it had been our mentor, wouldn't she have been assisting Mina?

Then I slid into the shadows to search for Pix and, hopefully, vampires. But by the time dawn broke, I'd found neither Pix nor an UnDead. I had, however, become very familiar with New Vauxhall Gardens. Frustrated, I returned home—for once entering through the front door.