The Clockwork Scarab (Stoker & Holmes 1)

Shaking my head, I waited with complacence. Thanks to Grayling's speedy vehicle, it would be impossible for Lady Isabella to have arrived at Cosgrove Terrace before we did, even if she had an inkling that I might come here. She wasn't going to be inside, and her absence was going to be the first piece of evidence against her.

The door swung open before I had the opportunity to respond to Grayling's question, which was a good thing, because what precisely was I going to tell him? That his distant relative had been murdering young women in order to resurrect an Egyptian goddess from the ether?

"Good evening, Dusenbery, I need to speak with Lord Belmont or Lady Isabella."

"It's urgent that we speak to Lady Cosgrove-Pitt immediately," I said.

"Of course, Inspector Grayling. And Miss . . . er . . . ?" The butler stepped back, giving us entrance.

I didn't offer my name. I saw no reason to give Lady Isabella or anyone else warning that I was there. When Dusenbery seemed to hesitate-perhaps waiting for me to do so-I pressed, "It's quite urgent. Is Lady Isabella in?" Since it was well into the early hours of the morning, it would be odd for her not to be in, even if she'd attended a party or the theater.

"Lord Belmont is at his club," Dusenbery said, looking at Grayling instead of me. I'm certain the only reason he was so forthcoming with that information was because my companion was both a relative and from the authorities. "I shall see if Lady Isabella will see you."

"We'll wait in the parlor," Grayling told Dusenbery.

"I'd prefer to wait here," I said. It would be easier to see or hear anything else happening in the house if we remained in the foyer.

"Very well," said Dusenbery as he turned, presumably to hunt down Lady Isabella.

I chafed at the delay, yet at the same time, I felt a strange calm settle over me. Lady Isabella wouldn't see us, of course, because she wasn't here.

And even if she happened to arrive in the next few moments-which in itself was unlikely; after all, she'd been air-lifted from a roof on the other side of the city-she'd be unable to change her clothing and otherwise hide the traces of her secret identity.

I was going to have to induce Grayling to search the house if Lady Isabella "refused" to see us-that is, when the butler found that she wasn't in residence after all.

"Miss Holmes," said my companion, looking down at me from his excessive height, "will you please provide me some explanation for this?" His hair was ruffled from the ride, and I couldn't help but remember how my legs had pressed into the underside of his. And how well he'd managed that monstrous machine.

I heard the sound of footsteps.

"Ambrose! Whatever is wrong? What are you doing here at this time of the night?"

My heart dropped to my feet at the sound of Lady Isabella's voice. I whirled, the inability to hide my shock surely evident in my expression. My whole body had gone cold and numb. "Lady Cosgrove-Pitt. You're here." My lips hardly moved.

Impossible.

"But of course I'm here." Her eyes went from me to Grayling and back again, a bemused, confused look in them. My face heated to a fiery temperature as the rest of my person remained icy. "It's nearly one o'clock in the morning."

I examined her desperately, searching for any sign she'd just been in the midst of a fire. She was wearing a long night rail and a loose housecoat, and her hair was braided in one single plait that hung over her shoulder. I saw no trace of makeup nor any debris on her slippered feet.

How could I be wrong?

"I'm sorry to bother you, Lady Isabella," Grayling said. I could hear the stiffness in his voice and feel his confusion as he looked at me. "Miss Holmes-er-we believed it was an urgent matter."

I found my voice at last. "I just learned about Lilly Corteville. I wanted to express my condolences. I understand you were close to the family." I could think of nothing else to say, and Grayling's heavy regard continued to weigh me down.

Lady Isabella looked at me. I looked back at her, searching in vain for something in her eyes, some sort of recognition that we'd been face-to-face less than an hour ago.

"Yes, indeed. What a tragedy that was," she said in a soothing voice that conveyed confusion. "That was your purpose for rousting me from my bed?"

"I-I apologize, my lady. I . . . er . . . didn't realize how late it was."

"My apologies as well, Lady Isabella," said Grayling. "We'll be off now. Please give Uncle Belmont my regards."

"Of course," said the gracious lady.

No sooner had the door closed behind us than Grayling gave me a long, inscrutable look. To my surprise, it was neither condemning nor angry. It was . . . exasperated and a little bemused. And concerned.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you simply wanted an excuse to ride on the steamcycle."

I couldn't look at him.

I'd been wrong.

Very wrong.

How could I have made such a mistake?

Chapter 14

Miss Holmes

The Game Is Afoot

Dazed by humiliation, I recalled little of my subsequent ride home. Grayling insisted he take me there and nowhere else. I was too stunned to argue otherwise.

I had no idea what time I let myself into a quiet house, but the night was still dark.

How could I have been wrong?

How could I have made such a mistake?

I found myself stumbling into my mother's empty room. A single beam of silvery moonlight traced the knotted coverlet on her bed, and I sank onto that cold but welcoming furnishing. A soft puff of air escaped from the coverings, and I caught the faintest whiff of my mother's scent.

My insides churned unpleasantly, and my throat hurt. I couldn't ever remember a time I felt so ill and lost and empty.

Except the day she left.

From my seat on the bed, I looked at her dressing table. The gray, drassy illumination highlighted the few articles that remained: a small silver jewelry box, a broken hairbrush, two mahogany combs, and a wrist-length piece of lace. I knew that her wardrobe was just as empty.

Why, Mother?

What is wrong with me?

I'd always thought she left me was because I was too much a Holmes.

But after tonight, I realized I wasn't enough of a Holmes.

I woke, achy and parched, curled up on Mother's rumpled quilt. Mrs. Raskill said nothing as I stumbled into my own chamber to freshen up and dress, but I caught a flash of sympathy in her gaze. I ignored it.

A short time later, I found my way into the laboratory. The broken glass from my magnifyer still littered the floor. Had it been only yesterday that Grayling had startled me with the news of Lilly Corteville?