Moonlight & Mechanicals (15 page)

Why couldn’t he have just gotten his father’s Roman nose instead? He could have lived with that.

“You can stop the self-flagellation at any time.” Wink’s tone now was cool, even detached. He looked over to see that she’d knotted her shawl to hide the tear in her gown. The only thing that would give them away to Mountjoy was her disheveled hair. “It was a kiss, Liam, nothing more, and it was as much my fault as yours, for which I apologize. Apparently I’m more susceptible to such things than I’d thought. So, you are correct. We need to ensure that it doesn’t happen again.”

His jaw dropped. She was blaming herself? What sort of twisted logic was that? He shook his head, trying to make sense of what she’d just said. “Wink, I—”

She held up her hand. “No. You’ve made your position on the subject indisputably clear. There is to be no relationship of a romantic sort between us. Therefore, we need to ensure that the more, umm—earthy—aspects of our natures are kept under control. That means we need to refrain from any kind of affectionate behavior, particularly when we’re alone. In fact, it would be preferable if we didn’t happen to find ourselves alone. Are we in agreement?”

Were they? He had no idea what he might be agreeing to, being utterly unable to keep up with her logic. “Well, umm—”

“Never mind.” She shook her head and slowed her words as if she was talking to one of her infant siblings. “I understand that for men, such reactions are merely physical and for the most part involuntary. I don’t hold you responsible, Liam. Apparently I really am as mannish as some people have said, for I have to admit, I found the physical side of things quite enjoyable too. However, we are adults, and as such, must be accountable for our actions. Since we don’t wish to repeat tonight’s indiscretions, the obvious solution is to avoid one another.”

Mannish? Is she insane?
In his arms Wink was about as feminine as could be. And what did she mean his response was involuntary? That only ever happened with her. Normally, he kept even those reactions under tight control. Then his overloaded brain caught the last part of what she’d said and he sighed. This was something he could agree to, since he didn’t want to find himself on the wrong end of her father’s sword. “Yes. I think you’re right. While we can’t avoid one another in public, we certainly ought to in private.”

“There. I’m glad that’s settled.” She gave a sharp nod. “Of course we still need to confer on the matter of the possible uprising, and on the Miller situation. If we meet at either Scotland Yard or the Camelot Club, there will be others around, and of course at the house I can enlist Jamie or Nell or even Aunt Dorothy.”

“Of course.” Being constantly surrounded by Hadrians wasn’t likely to help him sleep at night, but it would do to keep them from repeating tonight’s idiocy.

Now her gaze softened. “I can’t help wondering if part of your uncharacteristic nervousness stems from the knowledge that your parents are planning to attend the races. You’ve never told us much about them, other than that they disowned you. Perhaps it would help if you talked about that situation. You certainly know all of my family’s secrets. I think I can be trusted to keep a few of yours.”

“It isn’t about trust.” Not in her ability to keep a secret, anyway. Not once had one of the Hadrian brood, even the youngest, given anyone a reason to doubt the story Merrick had put out about their origins before the adoption. They kept their own counsel better than some of the professional spies in Whitehall. “I know you wouldn’t repeat anything I told you.”

“So tell me then. Why are you so unhappy about seeing your father?” She folded her hands serenely in her lap.

Liam shrugged. “It just isn’t pleasant conversation, and there isn’t much point. My mother died when I was young. My father despises me, his wife has no use for me, and my older brother is set to inherit the title and the wolf pack. So I came to London, where I can make a difference in the world, doing the work I love.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your mother. How did she die?” The empathy—not sympathy, but true fellow-feeling—in her words was nearly his undoing.

“Childbirth,” he said tightly. “Neither she nor my infant sister survived.” His mother had been so worn down by the old man’s beatings and ravings that she’d had no strength, not even a will to survive, especially once little Siobhan stopped breathing just an hour or so after her birth. His mother had slipped away just a few hours later. “The priest barely had time to administer baptism and last rights, but he was quick, and both were buried in hallowed ground.” The Catholic Church had only reluctantly admitted werewolves, but his father made a staunch showing of false piety.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice had thickened. “I’d assumed childbirth was easier for lycanthropes, given your regenerative abilities.”

He shrugged. “It usually is, I’m told. They think my mother suffered a brain aneurism during labor, and she was too weak to shift, which is how we normally heal ourselves.” Too weak from years of consistent abuse, verbal and physical. “As for the babe, she wouldn’t have been capable of regeneration yet. Our abilities don’t begin until we’re a little older.” He’d just made his first change before his mother died. Afterward, he spent over a week as a wolf cub, refusing to shift back until he’d howled out his grief.

“How old were you at the time?” Her voice remained expressionless, but empathy filled her gaze.

“Six.” He truly didn’t want to discuss this—now or ever.

“And your brother? How old was he?” Her brows knit together. “You know, I don’t even know his name. What is it, by the way?”

“Callum, Viscount Trent.” Why couldn’t she let him drop this subject? “He was ten, making him thirty-four now. I know he married and has children, but I couldn’t tell you their names, not even that of his unfortunate bride.”

“Unfortunate?” She shot him a questioning glance.

He shrugged. “I told you that the males in our family aren’t kind to their mates. My father beat my mother on a regular basis until she died. Considering how he was with his playmates and the servants when he was younger, I can only assume Callum has followed in our sire’s footsteps, a fate I fully intend to avoid.”

“So you were, what, twenty-two when you came to London and joined the police?” she asked, ignoring the important part of what he’d just said.

“That’s right.” Liam sighed. “The last good thing my father did for me was to send me to school in Dublin when I was ten, then Trinity College. I came to town right after I finished my law courses.” Liam had been sent away when the old man remarried, because the new wife didn’t like having a brat underfoot. Unlike many of the boys at boarding school, Liam hadn’t gone home for the holidays or term breaks, either. Once he’d had a taste of freedom, he hadn’t been willing to give it up.

“Have you seen your father since?”

“No. I know he’s been in England on occasion, because I do follow the papers, but our paths have never crossed.” By design, of course. Liam stayed as far away from his family as was possible, without leaving Britain. He could see it was on the tip of her tongue to ask more, but the hack rolled to a stop in front of her house. “Good night, Winifred.”

“Good night, Liam.” She remained silent as he escorted her to the door and turned her over to Mountjoy, who cast Liam a most disapproving glance.

Liam bowed to the woman and the butler before returning to pay off the hack as the door closed behind him. “I’ll walk from here.”

“I wouldn’t if I was you, gov,” the driver said. “Not safe, you know, for a gent like you. Never know who or what might jump out from one of those alleys.”

Liam snickered. “I’ll risk it.”

With luck, the cabbie would prove right. He could use a good brawl tonight. Feeling chipper for the first time all night, he whistled as he started toward home.

Halfway home, he changed his mind. He wasn’t anywhere close to sleepy, so instead of continuing toward his townhouse, he made a turn and headed toward one of his clubs instead. To his disappointment, he didn’t encounter a single vampyre or even human thug along the way, and he was still spoiling for a fight. Cards would have to do instead, and before long, he found himself engaged in a cutthroat game of whist with stakes higher than what most of these lordlings could probably afford. Well, getting fleeced would teach the puppies a lesson. Liam had cleaned out all but one of the young men when Connor walked in, more than a little rumpled.

“You,” Liam said, his eyes narrowed. “Have a seat. I want to talk to you.”

“I’m out.” The last of Liam’s opponents stood and gulped the dregs of his drink. “You’ve won my allowance for the quarter anyway.” He fled the room, leaving Liam and Connor alone, except for a servant, who bustled off to get Connor a drink.

Connor slumped down in the chair the young toff had just vacated. When the servant came back with a tumbler of Scotch, Connor kept the bottle. He waved the steward off and told him to close the door behind him. Then he turned to Liam. “Whatever you have to say, stow it. I’ve already had a rotten night.”

Liam bared his teeth. “Well, it’s about to get worse. What the hell were you thinking, getting rough with Wink? And at a party, no less, where anyone could have seen you? I ought to kill you myself, or worse, tell Merrick and let him take you apart bit by bit.”

“Go ahead.” Connor drained his whiskey in one gulp. “Put me out of my misery, why don’t you?”

“I would, but that isn’t what Winifred needs. Be a man, MacKay. Marry the girl. Then bed her.” The words tasted sour in Liam’s mouth and he swallowed down his own drink, barely tasting the expensive brandy. “Try reversing the order again and I will hurt you. Furthermore, if I ever again see you tear her clothing in public…”

“That was an accident,” Connor said. “She knocked me off the damned bench and I grabbed hold to try to save my balance. Jesus, it isn’t as if I tried to rip her dress off in the throes of passion. She’d have killed me herself and saved you the trouble.”

Liam heard the stem of his snifter creak and set it down before he broke it. “This is too important for you to foul up. Wink needs…”

“You.” Connor’s shout interrupted Liam’s train of thought. “She doesn’t want me, damn it. She wants you. And I’ll be bloody well damned if I’m going to keep trying when the woman clearly isn’t interested.”

Liam swallowed hard. This was no time to panic. “Look, I know she has some silly romantic notion…”

“No. She’s not a little girl and she doesn’t have notions. She knows her own mind and it’s you she’s in love with, you great bloody bastard. And you damned well love her too, or you wouldn’t be after me like this.” Connor poured another shot and tossed it back. “You wouldn’t be sitting here drinking yourself stupid if you weren’t as miserable as she is. The game is over, McCullough. I’m through. So quit trying to play Cyrano and either court the girl yourself, or get used to the idea that she’s not going to marry anyone, ever.”

“She has to,” Liam said. He poured some of Connor’s Scotch into his brandy snifter and drank. “I can’t… Oh hell. Boston is starting to sound damn nice right about now. What do you think?”

Connor raised his glass. “What I think, my friend, is that we’re both a pair of bloody, sodding idiots.”

“Right. Cheers.” Liam clinked his glass to Connor’s and drank.

Chapter Eight

Wink wasn’t able to sleep. Determined to have some good come of the night, she dressed in her coveralls and went out to the small workshop her father had built her on the upper story of the carriage house. Even tinkering didn’t soothe her frazzled nerves, though. With a sigh, she stowed her tools and made her way back to the house, just in time to see Jamie slip out the kitchen door.

“Going somewhere?”

He shrugged. “Wapping. Want to come?”

“Hell yes. I’ll even pay for the hack.” She stepped back into the carriage house to grab a mask. With George walking between them, they walked a few blocks until they spotted a cab.

“The Pig?” she asked. The Wigged Pig, a tavern with the sign of a porcine barrister, had been the center of society in their little corner of Wapping.

Jamie nodded. “That’s where I planned to start, anyway. Clive’s still a friend.”

“Good enough.” Wink hadn’t been in the Pig since they’d left that part of town, but she probably should have. By training the children to defend themselves, Clive Perkins had done as much to keep them alive as Mrs. Miller. “Though I’m surprised you remember him.”

He shrugged. “Tom’s taken Piers and I to visit when we’ve been in town.”

“Why didn’t he tell me? Nell and I would have gone too.”

“That’s probably why he didn’t tell you.” Jamie crossed his arms and leaned back. “We knew you were trying hard to be all lady-like for Papa and Mum.”

“Brat. I hate it when you’re right.” Whether she liked it or not, taking two teenaged girls to a tavern in a rough part of town would have been considered very bad form. She supposed she could understand Tom’s thinking.

Inside, the Wigged Pig was much as she remembered. Cigar smoke created a haze nearly as thick as the one outside. Local women in low-cut bodices leaned over the bar, hoping to attract a man for the night. Sailors, dock workers and local shopkeepers mingled over a pint. The smell of cheap ale and unwashed people was stronger than she recalled, but she pretended not to notice as she sauntered up to the bar beside her brother. In her grease-stained coveralls, with her hair in a braid, she wasn’t likely to be mistaken for a prostitute, meaning not a single man in the place paid her any attention.

“Jamie.” A bald man in his thirties nodded as they leaned on the bar. “Who’s your…damnation, Wink, is that really you?”

“It is.” She held out her hand and shook Clive’s. “It’s been a long time, but you don’t look a day older.” While that wasn’t entirely true, she felt bad for having not visited before. “I hope things are going well here at the Pig?”

Clive shrugged. “Well enough. But look at you, all grown up. Thought you were a fine lady now? So where’s the silk and satin?”

She laughed. “Home in my closet.”

“Still tinkering with machines, eh?” With a grin at George sitting down by her feet, he slid pints of ale over the counter to both Wink and Jamie. “Hullo, George.”

George wagged his tail.

“Of course.” Wink took a minuscule sip while Jamie swallowed a fair bit. “What else would I do?”

“So anyone else go missing?” Jamie asked, cutting off the reminiscences. “Anybody seen or heard anything more?”

Clive shook his head. “Word’s out to stay off the streets at night if you can, especially down by the water.”

“That’s good,” Wink said. “So is that old icemaker I built for you still running?” In those days, she’d scavenged broken machine parts and rebuilt them into things she could sell, or as with Clive, trade for food and weapons training. His had been the first pub in this part of town with its own ice machine.

“Sometimes,” Clive said. “You wanted to have a look at it, since you’re here, it wouldn’t break my heart.”

“Sure thing. Come on, George.” With Jamie following her, she went out the back door of the pub and down the outside steps to the cellar where the machinery was located. A little oil and a few tightened bolts did the trick, though she made a note to send him a newer machine—sort of a thank-you gift for what he’d done for them in the past. She wiped her hands on the seat of her coveralls and they climbed the stairs, back into the alley.

“God, Jamie, it’s odd being back here like this,” Wink said. “This is the first time I’ve been back after dark.” Or in an alleyway, for that matter. She shivered a little at the bleakness of it all.

Before they could go back into the bar, another figure stepped into the alley, clanking like an automated servant.

“Wink,” Jamie whispered. “Is that one of them?”

“I don’t know.” Instinctively, they flattened themselves against the building, behind a trash bin, hoping the creature wouldn’t spot them. It was almost parallel with the pub door—they’d have to push past to get inside.

The thing moved closer and George growled. There was no gaslight in the alley, just a faint trickle from the propped-open pub door that cast gleaming reflections across its metallic skin. Soft footsteps at the far end of the alley caught her ear and she looked up to see a man—this one fully human, with no gleaming metal—in a caped black greatcoat and large hat that shadowed his features.

She motioned George to silence and whispered in Jamie’s ear. “Do you have a gun with you?” Why hadn’t she brought anything other than a knife?

Jamie nodded. “Should we shoot it or follow it?”

“Wait and see.” She held a finger over her mouth to indicate quiet.

The monster marched past, turned at the end of the alley and marched back the way it had come. When it passed them a second time, it paused. The head turned creakily right and left.

Wink held her breath and felt Jamie do the same. Her mouth was dry and her heart pounded so loudly she was sure the thing would hear it.

The mechanical man took a step toward them and Jamie drew his gun.

At the far end of the alley, a mangy dog loped in, sniffing garbage piles for food. The man—Wink was more sure than ever that there was a human beneath the suit, turned its head. When it spotted the dog, it turned from Wink and Jamie and stomped toward the unfortunate canine. Intent on its food, the dog didn’t try to run soon enough. The mechanical scooped it awkwardly into its arms and tromped back to the mouth of the alley, this time not pausing near the pair huddled behind the bin.

When it finally left the alley with the dog clutched to its chest, Wink and Jamie slipped back out to follow the monster. The man in the greatcoat was a few yards ahead of the lumbering mechanical. Obviously, the man wasn’t following the creation as they were. Was the mechanical chasing the man? Keeping to the shadows, Jamie and Wink managed to trail it to within a few yards of the steps before a hurrying dockworker ran into Wink and gave away their position.

When the burly drunken worker stuttered an apology, the man waiting at the top of the steps for the mechanical turned and shot at their position. The dockworker fled down a side alley. Jamie returned fire, and they heard a shout of pain, but the bullets kept coming. The metal man dropped the dog and trundled toward them, arms extended, so Jamie shot at it and swore. “Out of bullets.”

Apparently their other opponent had more than one gun. The shots were getting closer to hitting them as his aim evidently improved.

Wink looked at Jamie. “What do we do when we’re out-gunned?”

Jamie firmed his chin. “One of the first lessons you taught me. We run like hell.”

Wink caught his hand and the two of them ran for all they were worth, sticking to the shadows and ducking through passages a stranger to Wapping wouldn’t know. Eventually, the sound of the metal footsteps ceased.

They paused outside the Pig to catch their breath. “Glad I wasn’t wearing a corset,” Wink said. “I don’t run very often anymore.”

Jamie gave her a funny look. “I get a weird sense you might need to in the future.”

Still breathing hard and both more worried than they’d admit out loud, the subdued siblings took another cab—this time all the way to their front door.

* * *

After such a rough night, Wink was the first one at breakfast the next morning, beating even Nell who had just another week or two left at the Academy. Nell was already planning her trip home to Northumberland, and was as animated about that as she was about her final recital the last week of June.

Wink sighed. While it was nice to see her sister so happy, it only served to underscore her own emotional turmoil. Stay away from Liam? She must have been insane to think she could manage that. Something about that man made her brain melt into a puddle of mush, and take all her best intentions with it. Still, she didn’t want to trap him into marriage, so keeping her distance was imperative, at least until he got his head out of his arse about his own suitability as a husband.

Did he really believe that nonsense about being like his father? Wink wished the earl was here, just so she could give him a piece of her mind. While corporal punishment was the norm, even the expectation in most households, she didn’t personally believe in it, and anyway, there was a distinct line between correction and assault. There was no excuse for a man to ever strike his wife or children out of anger, and while Liam hadn’t said anything about his father beating him, she could tell from his expression that it had happened, probably on a frequent basis. Liam had a temper, but there was no way in hell he could ever behave in that sort of manner. Why couldn’t he see that?

“Gee, sis, what did that orange ever do to you?” Jamie sauntered in and helped himself to a plate. “If you’re going to mutilate helpless fruit, do it somewhere else. You’ll spoil my appetite.”

Wink set down the orange she’d been inadvertently squeezing. “Oh, just imagining it’s someone’s skull.”

“Not mine I hope.” He sat across from her and dug into an enormous pile of steak and eggs and kippers. “Remember, military academy. You promised.”

“I know.” She wouldn’t go back on that promise, mainly because she did believe it was the best possible course for her brother. “What are you doing today?” Once again, he was dressed in clothes he must have borrowed from one of the servants. At least this time he didn’t smell of gin—yet.

“Going back to the Pig. I keep thinking that if I rub shoulders with the folks there, something might trigger a vision that will help us find Eamon.” Jamie shook his head. “Plus, our metal friend shouldn’t be there in the daylight. I don’t think Eamon’s alive though.”

“Is that a vision, or a deduction?” With Jamie, that could make all the difference.

“Deduction.” He shrugged. “I just can’t envision any possibility that doesn’t involve his death, other than maybe a press gang. Can you?”

“I really have no idea.” Wink drew in a deep breath. “Though that’s probably the best option. Once they find out he’s an able sailor, he’d probably be treated all right. I know Mrs. Miller doesn’t really expect to see him again. Not really. She’s putting on a good front, but inside, she’s horribly afraid her son is gone.” Wink would have given anything to spare her friend that kind of grief.

Jamie nodded. “I thought so too. She’s talking about closing up the tea shop and going to Liverpool to live with her daughter-in-law and grandchildren.”

Wink set down her fork, her breakfast barely touched. “Maybe that’s for the best.”

The front door opened, without the knocker or doorbell having sounded. Both Wink and Jamie stood, as that could only mean a few select people. Even Connor and Liam were expected to knock. Mountjoy would only open the door preemptively if it was one of the family. They ducked out into the hallway in time to see Tom handing his frock coat and top hat to the butler.

“Thanks, Mountjoy.” Tom scowled at Jamie even as he thumped him on the back. “What are you doing home? Your term doesn’t end for a week.”

“Leave him alone,” Nell said from the stairs, before she came running down to give Tom a hug. “It’s good to see you. I always worry when you’re away on missions.” Nell flushed a little and looked down at the hem of her skirt.

Tom gave Nell a funny look, one Wink couldn’t interpret. There was some kind of strange tension between those two lately, and even thinking about it made Wink’s head hurt.

“You’ll hear the story anyway,” Jamie said, turning back toward the breakfast room. “Might as well eat while we catch you up.”

“Good.” Tom was just a step behind Jamie. “I’m starved. Kendall recalled me to help Connor and him with this Ascot mess. I traveled overnight by train and have to report in soon. Before I go, what’s the situation with Eamon Miller?”

They sat back down at the breakfast table while Wink and Jamie brought Tom up to date.

Once he was caught up, Tom nodded. “As soon as I change, I’ll ride with Wink into the Club and get to work.” He looked over at Wink. “So, are you and Connor engaged yet?”

With that, Wink picked up her uneaten orange and threw it at his head. Of course he caught it instead, the blighter. As she stalked from the room, she heard him laugh and ask, “Should I take that as a no?”

* * *

Liam spent the morning at Madame Toussaint’s, after a heart-stopping telephone call from Wink about the mechanical man behind the Wigged Pig. One of the brothel’s employees had vanished overnight, this time not one of the ladies, but a “footman,” or more accurately, one of the establishment’s guards.

“Toby is a good lad,” Nettie Hawkins said, rubbing her spectacles with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. “Not very bright, you understand. In fact, he’s been called an idiot, and worse. But he’s cook’s son, and a more loyal employee, I’d never find.”

Liam made a mental note to look for a man who wasn’t all there intellectually. He opened his notebook and jotted down the man’s name and occupation. “When was the last time you saw Toby?”

“He went out to get a few more jugs of sack from the Pig last night. We ran out, and our usual supplier isn’t open that late.” Mrs. Hawkins put her glasses back on and twisted the handkerchief.

The Wigged Pig. Liam swallowed hard. How easily it could have been Wink or Jamie.

Mrs. Hawkins continued, “Toby may be a little slow, but he wouldn’t have been easy to overpower. He’s taller than you are, Inspector, and powerfully strong.”

That tallied with what he already knew about the disappearances. All young-to-middle-aged, healthy individuals. “Someone else reported an automaton that looked like Lolly’s drawing outside the tavern last night. Of course we still can’t rule out thieves or a press gang.”