The Spiritglass Charade (Stoker & Holmes 2)

“What about the cage?”

“Yeah. Guy ’ad an accent, too. He took off the cloth and showed me a peek. Inside was the biggest, hairiest spider I ever seen. Big as my hand.” He shuddered. “Guy really liked spiders, too; both of ’em did. And then they come back some more times since. I don’ like to wait on ’em, so I lets Luke do it. Coupla lunatics if ye ask me, takin’ up w’ caged spiders. Bloodsucking, crawly creatures. Ugh.”

The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. “What makes you think they both liked spiders so much?”

“They had—both ’em did—a mark on the wrist. Right here.” He showed me the inside of his wrist. “Had a long-legged spider on it. Creepy and ugly. Wouldnt’a seen it if she hadn’t taken off her gloves ’cause of the pickle juice. You want another pickle?”

I hardly heard him. Surely the man and woman were members of La société. “Did you see where they went?”

The bartender shrugged again and gestured to the front windows. “I can’t see much. But they went out and to the left, as I recall. Hard to forget them. He had a mark on his wrist, too. Looked like two small red punctures. Maybe he let that spider pet suck on himself.”

Or maybe something else had been drinking his blood. Something UnDead.

“Ain’t seen ’em for a while, and I’m glad to say it.” He shuddered again, then turned to serve another patron.

Filled with excitement, I slid off the stool and, leaving a generous payment, hurried out of the pub. I knew it was unlikely I’d figure out where the spider couple had gone, but at least I could look around.

I could hardly wait to talk to Mina.

Miss Holmes

Wherein a Legality Is Reviewed

“Excellent investigative work, Miss Stoker.” My approval was sincere, for she had uncovered quite a bit of interesting information. “Most excellent. You may become my Watson after all.”

“Not bloody likely.”

But I could tell she was pleased.

It was the morning two days after the events at Vauxhall. At my request, Evaline had picked me up in her carriage after breakfast. The game was in full swing.

“So what have we learned . . . That one of our suspects has large gambling debts, which strengthens his motive of wanting to maintain control of Willa’s finances—particularly if he was beginning to see the writing on the wall of the resolution of Mr. Treadwell’s courtship of his cousin. This information requires a closer look at Mr. Ashton, who, I confess, I hadn’t given as much thought to until now. I shall endeavor to do so today when we visit Miss Ashton.”

“So that’s where we’re going. Nice of you to tell me.”

“Do you not think we ought to hear her side of the story—about what happened when she climbed out onto the roof and attempted to catch her brother’s soul with a fishing pole? This latest development is quite concerning. She actually climbed onto the roof with a fishing pole. . . . Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps the villain isn’t trying to drive her mad, but to go so far as to cause her death. We must tread carefully from here on out, Evaline. We must watch over Miss Ashton very closely.”

“I agree.”

“As for your experience at the Pickled Nurse . . . It does seem to indicate, at the very least, the return of La société.”

“And the vampires.”

“Mm. Yes. I suppose one must accept that as well.” Since Evaline’s encounter with the vampire at the Oligary Building, I had reluctantly acknowledged the existence of the UnDead. But I wasn’t at all ready to believe in spirit-talking and messages from beyond. That was simply ludicrous.

“Did you see Miss Adler?”

“Miss Adler? Where?”

“At New Vauxhall. I thought I saw her in the crowd of people after you were pulled out of the river. But if she didn’t speak to you, I must have been mistaken.”

“I would have noticed her. And surely she would have made herself known to me.”

Or perhaps she wouldn’t have. The lead ball that had settled in my belly since Vauxhall grew heavier. Perhaps Miss Adler had witnessed my debacle with the thief and agreed with the spectators. And Inspector Grayling, who’d called me bat-headed.

After all, when Miss Adler pressed me and Miss Stoker into service for the Crown, our mentor never indicated she expected us to engage in fighting and running and drawing attention to ourselves. At least, in public. And perhaps the princess had heard of my lack of decorum and was displeased. I pushed the worry away.

“I did, however, have the misfortune of encountering Lord and Lady Cosgrove-Pitt.” That had been a moment of sheer mortification as I stood there with my hair dripping wet over my shoulders, required to be polite and deferential to the Parliamentary leader and his wife . . . the latter whom I had very nearly accused of being the murderous Ankh.

Not to mention that I was wearing the overlarge coat, complete with Metropolitan Police badge, that belonged to their distant relation. Fortunately, Lady Isabella hadn’t seemed to notice.

“I’m not surprised. It seemed as if everyone in the upper crust of Society—and below—was at New Vauxhall Gardens last night.”

The carriage stopped in front of Miss Ashton’s home. As Evaline and I walked to the front door, it opened. This action was not due to our arrival, but the departure of a familiar gentleman—Dr. Norton.

“Sad business, Miss Geraldine, Herrell.” The physician donned his hat. “Sorry to do it, but she needs protection.”

Mr. Ashton appeared weary and resigned, and the spinster aunt leaned heavily against him as they bid Dr. Norton farewell. “I know. That’s why I asked you to come. I knew I could trust you. Why, Miss Stoker! And Miss—er—Holmes.”

Evaline exchanged glances with me. “Good morning, Mr. Ashton. We’ve come to visit Willa. Is everything all right?”

I had felt a prickle of unease when I saw Dr. Norton, and now it metamorphosed into apprehension. “Is she all right?”

Aunt Geraldine glanced from us to the physician, who tipped his hat and took his leave. “I’m afraid we’ve had another incident. Dr. Norton is quite concerned about my niece.”

“Do lie down, Geraldine,” Mr. Ashton said kindly. “This has been nearly as upsetting for you as it has been for Willa. I’ll . . . see to our visitors.”

“Thank you, Herrell, darling. I do think I shall go put a cold cloth on my forehead.”