The Girl in the Steel Corset (10 page)

Her fingers tangled together in her lap. She had black beneath her nails from working in her laboratory. “Remember when you told me about how you first learned about your abilities?”

He nodded. “I told you about the first ghost I saw.”

“Three months ago, you told me you sometimes felt as though the Aether might swallow you whole if you let it.”

Griff closed his eyes. He shouldn’t have told her that. “I believe I said I thought my talents were increasing.”

She scooted closer, perching on the edge of her seat. “I think… I reckon something’s happening to me, lad. Something strange.”

Caught between curiosity, concern and irritation, Griffin frowned. “What is it, Em?”

“It might be better if I showed you.”

“Show me then.”

The girl got up from where she sat and hesitantly walked over to the phonograph in the corner. Instead of operating by setting a needle into a flat disc, Emily had moderated it to work with metal punch cards of her design. They wouldn’t “warp” like discs or scratch so easily. And instead of winding it, there was a tiny steam engine built in so it could play for longer periods of time, punch card after punch card.

Emily, looking tiny in her knee-length ruffled trousers,
billowy shirt and grungy leather corset, tugged absently on one of the ropes of her bright red hair as she reached a pale hand toward the machine. Griff watched in amazement as the phonograph whirred to life at her touch. Emily closed her eyes, an expression of concentration on her face. The phonograph shuffled through the punch cards until it found a harpsichord piece Griff knew to be one of Emily’s favorites. As the song began to play, the volume increased, as well—all without Emily even turning the key to start the machine’s engine. Technically, the phonograph wasn’t even
on.

The music played for a few brief moments, but ended abruptly when Emily removed her hand. She looked at Griff over her shoulder. He couldn’t tell if she was proud or terrified.

“I can tell them what to do,” she said. “Machines. And sometimes, I think I understand them, too.”

“Incredible,” Griffin remarked, awestruck. He had risen to his feet during the amazing demonstration and now leaned against the sofa. He ran a hand through his hair. Words eluded him.

Emily didn’t look so convinced. “What’s wrong with me?”

It hadn’t occurred to Griffin, who’d had “abnormal” abilities from a very young age, that these new talents would scare his friend. He supposed they felt the same way he would if suddenly he wasn’t able to consult the Aether.

“Dormant abilities?” It was a guess at best. Then he thought about it. Hadn’t he noticed changes in himself over the past six months to a year? Subtle changes, but the fact remained that his own powers had increased significantly. To the point where he fought for control at times.

“We’re evolving,” he murmured. He knew it sounded preposterous but what other explanation was there? “I don’t know why or how, but we are.”

“What about Sam?” Emily asked. “Has he mentioned any new abilities?”

“He might not be aware of any changes, or attributes them to his automatonic enhancements. Besides, I don’t think he’d tell any of us right now even if he had.”

“It’s not as though we can ask him,” Emily commented. “He’s off somewhere again.”

Griffin noticed how Emily’s face fell as she spoke. “Em, Sam’s behavior is not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault. You did what you did to save him and I told you to do it. If he wants to be angry about it, fine, but eventually he has to get his head out of his arse and be thankful he’s alive.”

Emily’s aqua eyes widened at that.

“Right now I’m more concerned as to the catalyst for these changes in us,” Griff went on. “There has to be something causing it, but what? There hasn’t been anything new in our lives.”

“I’ll run some tests,” Emily offered. “Check our water and our food—anything that gets brought into the house
and used by all of us. There has to be somethin’. Changes like this don’t happen over a few months, they take years.”

“Hundreds of them,” Griff added. “Evolution is a slow and steady process. This is anything but. If something in this house is responsible for these changes, I know you’ll find it, Em.”

She blushed slightly. “I hope I’m as smart as you seem to think I am.”

“I know it’s a lot.” Griffin ran a hand through his hair. “You already have your hands full with the automatons. You tell me what you need and I’ll make sure you have it.”

Emily thanked him and Griff smiled. “Don’t thank me. You’re going to have me underfoot in the lab for the next couple of days. I want to do some tests on Finley’s blood.” Briefly he filled her in on what they’d discovered earlier that day. He left out the part about Finley threatening Cordelia.

Emily frowned. “Doesn’t it seem odd to you that everyone who has had ties with your family is either dead or some sort of meta-human?”

Griffin hadn’t thought of that. He’d always been different, so these things sometimes escaped him when he was too caught up in particulars.

Emily jumped on that thought and took it further. “You and Sam grew up together, and both of you have had your abilities from a young age. Finley’s father made sure she was born with hers, but they didn’t manifest until she entered
puberty. I’ve been around for a short time and now I’m changing, too. Lad, I think this has to do with you—rather than something we’ve been exposed to in this house.”

The answer smacked Griffin hard, like a slap to the face. “The Organites. Finley’s father was experimenting with them. Sam and I grew up around them, and you’ve been exposed to them since you first came here.” The answer he’d been searching for finally came. “My father said they were the wellspring of life, and that Sam and I had ‘evolved natural abilities.’ Finley’s father didn’t make himself a monster, the Organites simply evolved aspects of his nature to the highest degree.”

Emily’s eyes were wide with excitement. Griff could almost see the gears of her mind working. “We should test blood from all of us, not just Finley. I can compare it to samples I’ve taken in the past. If the Organites have changed us on a cellular level, I’ll find it.”

Griffin had no doubt that she would. Never had he been so glad that he had chosen her over one of her brothers to work for him as he was right then. Sometimes Emily’s intelligence scared him, while his own lack of perspective was sometimes so narrow he wanted to slap himself. “We’ll start tonight. I’ll send for Finley and you can take a sample from her, as well.”

“She’s not here,” Emily informed him, looking a little uneasy. “I saw her leave about an hour ago.”

“Leave?” She hadn’t said a word. He hadn’t even heard
her. That could mean only one thing. Her dark side had taken over. He should have known this might happen given the stress of the day. How could he have been so careless?

“You want me to go look for her?” Emily asked.

Griff shook his head. He wouldn’t dream of letting Emily roam around at this time of night by herself. “You won’t find her if she doesn’t want to be found. No, get what you need to take my blood and your own. I’ll worry about Finley.”

And worry he would. The last time she’d gone out, she’d visited Jack Dandy, according to the quick glimpse Cordelia had seen into Finley’s mind. God only knew what kind of trouble she’d be getting up to tonight. Right now he had more important things to do than chase after her. Too many people were depending upon him.

He just hoped Finley didn’t get hurt. More importantly, he hoped she didn’t hurt anyone else.

Finley woke the next morning still in her clothes. What had she done the night before? Where had she gone? No memory came to her as she sat up, mind blank.

She looked down at her boots—no dirt. At her hands—no blood. Surely that was a good sign? Her knuckles were tender and slightly bruised, but that didn’t mean she’d hurt anyone. She could have hit anything. That didn’t stop dread from pooling in her stomach.

This had to stop. She couldn’t go on like this, turning into her own version of Mr. Hyde. Her darker self had taken over completely—something that had never happened before.

Griffin had offered to help her, but in the few days she’d been in this house nothing had happened that made her think there was any cure for this madness. In fact, the
“switches” between her two sides seemed to have worsened. What if Griffin couldn’t help her? Was she doomed to lose herself as Jekyll had and end up a monster?

The thought made her stomach roll and tears burn the back of her eyes. Had her father felt this way, helpless and sick?

Well, she wasn’t helpless, not completely. It was obvious that Griffin had some kind of sway over her darker half. Twice now he had calmed her as that chaos had tried to take her. If anyone could figure out how to make this all stop, it was him.

Feeling slightly less sorry for herself and a tad bit optimistic, Finley swung her legs over the side of the bed. She rose and removed her slept-in clothes, bathed and slipped into fresh black-and-white-striped stockings, black skirt, white shirt and a pretty pink corset with black velvet trim. Everything was brand-new, part of the new wardrobe Griffin had bought her.

His generosity still made her uneasy. She wasn’t accustomed to people, especially young men, being nice just to be nice. That was one thing she and her dark nature had in common—there was always a price. Still, she was willing to try trusting him. He’d been genuinely upset to learn that his father had been involved with her father’s downfall. Maybe he felt as though he owed it to her to do what he could to keep her from suffering the same fate.

Dressed, she put her hair up in two messy buns on either side of her head. She squinted and leaned toward the cheval glass. Was that a streak of black in her hair? It was. It began right at the roots and continued down a bit before stopping abruptly. It was as though someone had started to paint this one-inch-wide section of her hair and then thought the better of it. Curious. It looked somewhat nice, she thought, but it would look better if it went all the way to the ends of her nondescript locks.

Finley left her room and hurried down the stairs to the great hall. It was there that she met up with Emily, who was carrying a small metal tray with what looked like medical instruments on it. The smaller girl looked tired and worried, her eyes rimmed with red. Finley slowed her steps.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

Emily glanced up, as though she hadn’t even noticed Finley’s approach. “Oh,” she said. “It’s you. I was just coming to see you.”

Finley arched a brow as the Irish girl fell silent with a small frown, obviously distracted.

“What did you want to see me about?” she asked, noticing that what she thought was a headband was really a pair of strange goggles with interposing lenses on tiny brass arms.

Ropey red hair swung as Emily’s head shook. “Lord, I’m
a dunderhead this morning. I need a wee bit of your blood. Griffin wants me to do some tests, see if I can’t figure out what’s going on with these abilities we all seem to have.”

“What’s wrong with you?” It didn’t come out as Finley intended. She didn’t mean to make it sound like Emily had a disease or something. She was just surprised that they had something in common. So surprised that she wasn’t even alarmed that Emily wanted her blood.

Pale cheeks turned light pink. “I can talk to machines.”

“Do they…talk…back?” It was all she could think to ask.

Emily actually laughed. “Not with words, no. But I can sometimes tell what’s wrong with them, how to fix them.”

“How very extraordinary.” Finley smiled. “Much more useful than tossing footmen through doorways.”

“I don’t know about that,” Emily replied. “I’ve often wished I could toss a particular fellow around.”

“Sam. He’s what’s got you so distracted, isn’t he?” Too late she realized it was really none of her business.

Emily blushed again, but she nodded. “Yes. He’s been spending as much time as possible away from here lately.”

Away from her—that was what she didn’t say and didn’t have to. Emily was as easy to read as an open book.

“He’ll come ’round,” Finley assured her, even though she had no way of knowing for certain. “You just wait. I wager he’ll be home tonight.”

Emily didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t look quite so
down in the mouth anymore, either. “Perhaps. I suppose it’s out of my control, so I shouldn’t worry about it.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t be concerned for a friend.”

The red-haired girl smiled at her then, and Finley was struck by how pretty she was when she was happy. “Thank you, Finley. It’s properly pleasant to have another lass in the house. The lads are lovely, but they’re rubbish at trying to make one feel less morose.”

Warmth filled Finley from the inside out. So this was what it was like to have a friend.

“I really should get a sample of your blood,” Emily remarked. “Then you can go on and have your breakfast. I’m sure I’m keeping you.”

Finley protested that she wasn’t doing any such thing, and they went to one of the parlors regardless, where Emily swabbed the crook of her elbow with a strong smelling liquid and then expertly pierced the flesh with a sharp needle. A few seconds later and she was done, placing a bandage on the spot and wrapping it in place. She could have told the little redhead not to bother—her blood clotted fairly quickly—but she liked having the company a little longer.

“I wonder if my blood looks like everyone else’s,” Finley thought aloud. “Or if it looks as different as I feel.”

“Everyone’s pretty much the same under the skin,” the
other girl replied, putting her needle away. “Except for Sam, of course.”

“Why, what does he look like?”

Emily blinked, then smiled. “Sorry. I’d forgotten that you’d only been with us a short time. Sam’s what I term a mandroid—part man, part machine.”

Finley’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “How?”

The smaller girl’s smile faded. “I couldn’t let him die. Now he hates me for it.”

What was she supposed to say to that? She couldn’t argue it because she didn’t know Sam, but he had seemed like an angry young man the few times she saw him. If he blamed Emily like she blamed her father for making her what she was, then there was nothing she could say to make the girl feel better.

“I don’t think he
hates
you,” Finley remarked, thinking back on how Sam had looked at Emily. “But I would think he’s very confused right now. It’s not easy discovering that someone close to you has made you into something…abnormal.”

She and Emily locked gazes. The other girl said nothing, so Finley had no idea if she was upset or not.

“I’ll let you know if your blood looks any different,” Emily said, smiling slightly. She gathered up her gear. “You should go get breakfast.”

Finley stood, feeling like a student being sent away by the headmistress at school. She went to the dining room,
hoping she hadn’t offended the girl she looked at as her one chance to have a friend.

The dining room was empty when she walked in, but the serving dishes were still on the sideboard, the top of which was like a radiator, circulating hot steam to keep the food warm. She helped herself to coddled eggs, ham, tomatoes and toast, then poured a cup of coffee and took the mouthwatering bounty back to the table.

She was just finishing her last piece of toast and jam when Mrs. Dodsworth came bustling in, high color in her round cheeks.

“Begging your pardon, miss, but His Grace requests your presence in his study immediately.”

The harried look on the older woman’s face and the nervous twisting of her hands had Finley instantly on her feet. “Did he say why?”

“No, miss. Just that you should come right away.”

Finley stood and followed after the round little woman. She had to hurry to keep up despite the housekeeper’s much shorter legs. When they reached Griffin’s study, Mrs. Dodsworth announced Finley and then walked away, leaving Finley to face the room alone.

Griffin sat behind the massive desk, looking every inch the lord of the manor. His gray-blue gaze flickered briefly to hers, lingering just long enough for her to know that everything was going to be all right.

“Sit down and let Griffin do most of the talking,”
whispered a voice in her head. It wasn’t her own, but sounded very much like Lady Marsden, who she noticed was also in the room, along with a tall thin man with thinning brown hair and a pleasant face punctuated by an unfortunate nose.

Obviously it was easier for the lady to put thoughts in her head rather than take them out. Regardless, the man had the look of authority about him, so Finley reckoned she’d take Lady Marsden’s advice, just this once.

“Miss Jayne,” Griffin said, rising to his feet as did the other gentleman. “I’m sorry to have interrupted your breakfast, but Constable Jones would like to speak to you.”

How had he known she was having breakfast? And…constable? Dizziness teased the edges of Finley’s mind and she felt that familiar surge that often precipitated the arrival of her darker side. She pushed it down. The last thing she wanted was to reveal her other nature to Scotland Yard, or worse, throw a police officer across the room.

She moved cautiously closer, enough of her other self coming to the surface that she felt calmer. She even managed a smile for the Peeler. “Good day, Constable Jones. What is it you wish to ask me?”

The officer waited until she’d sat down before returning to his own chair. They sat together in front of Griffin’s desk.

“My apologies, Miss Jayne,” said Constable Jones in a
melodic, slightly Liverpudlian accent. “But I understand that you worked for Lord August-Raynes until recently?”

“I did, yes.” She had to bite her tongue not to offer more information.

“You left that household in a bit of a hurry I’m told.”

“Yes.”

“And why was that?”

Do not lie, a voice in her head—her own this time—whispered. More sound advice. Better to omit facts than tell a bold-faced lie. “Because I no longer felt safe under that roof, sir.”

The constable was writing all of this down in a little notebook. He looked up from it now. “Why did you not feel safe?” He asked it in much the same way one might ask a child why they hadn’t eaten all their turnip.

Finley glanced at Griffin, who sat there with a perfectly serene expression on his face. Either he was terribly adept at hiding his feelings, or he simply didn’t care what happened to her. His aunt had said to let him do the talking but so far he hadn’t made much of an effort. “Because Lord Felix August-Raynes made unwanted advances toward me.”

“Advances?”

Finley sighed, part of her wanting to reach out and slap the man for being so dense. “He tried to force himself upon me. Apparently he made quite a habit of it amongst the younger servant girls.”

Constable Jones frowned. “Why did you not report this injury, Miss Jayne?”

She snorted, drawing a censorious look from Lady Marsden. “Begging your pardon, Constable Jones, but you and I both know that the police would have done nothing against a peer of the realm and I would have been turned out without so much as a reference.”

“I doubt very much running away will serve you well, either, miss.”

Finley smiled at him. “It got me here, didn’t it?” Dear God, what was she saying? She felt perfectly normal and yet her other self was awake—and talking.

The constable looked so surprised by her statement that he was momentarily speechless. This was when Griffin finally joined the conversation. And it was about bloody time. “Really, Constable. I respect that you have a job to do, but surely you can see that Miss Jayne has no knowledge of your reason for calling upon her today. A girl her size would be no match for Lord Felix, I’m sure you would agree.”

The officer seemed to mull this as he watched Finley. Finley looked away from him for a moment to stare at Griffin, who now had a strange glint in his eye. She wondered just how far he would go to protect her—and why he would bother. Then she returned her gaze to Jones. “What is your reason for calling upon me, sir?”

Constable Jones sighed. “It will be in all the papers by
tomorrow. Lord Felix August-Raynes was found dead this morning. He was murdered.”

Griffin watched as the color drained completely from Finley’s face. For a moment he’d feared that her “other” self might make an appearance given the earlier change in her demeanor, but now she just looked shocked.

“How?” she asked.

Constable Jones didn’t look surprised that she asked, which meant that he didn’t really consider her a suspect—at least he didn’t anymore. There was no faking such terrible surprise as Finley’s. “He was strangled,” the Peeler replied.

Finley pressed a hand to her mouth. It was a good thing she was a girl, and that Jones knew nothing about her past, otherwise he might not be so quick to scratch her—and her bruised knuckles—off his list of possible culprits.

Griffin didn’t know whether to scratch her off his list, either. Oh, he believed her shock, but that didn’t mean she was completely innocent. She might have been so completely taken over by her darker nature that she didn’t remember. She had been out late last night and he had no idea where she’d been or what she’d been doing. He didn’t want to believe her capable of such violence, but the simple truth was that she was not a normal girl and she was very capable of killing a full-grown man should she put her mind to it.

Regardless, he had made up his mind to help her as best
he could, and that meant protecting her as he would any of his friends. If she had harmed Lord Felix, it wasn’t her fault.

It was his father’s, and—by primogeniture—his, as well. The reminder drove him to action. He rose to his feet, officially put an end to the interview. “Constable, if you’re done I think Miss Jayne needs time to recover from this terrible news.”