Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $9.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    The Watchmaker's Daughter
    The Watchmaker's Daughter
    The Watchmaker's Daughter
    Ebook347 pages5 hours

    The Watchmaker's Daughter

    By C.J. Archer

    4/5

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    PRAISE FOR C.J. ARCHER'S GLASS AND STEELE SERIES:

    "Part romance, part mystery, part magic; all of which a joy to read." - Dreamer J's Book Reviews

    "This story has everything I look for in a quality, entertaining piece of fiction. 1) A strong female lead, 2) a dark and mysterious male character (I admit, they are my weakness), 3) eloquent writing, and 4) lots of quirky humor and banter." - Danaye from Young @ Art book reviews

    "a page-turner with great characters." 5 stars from Hooked On Books

    "Loved, loved, loved this book." 5 stars from Eriegirl218

    "What an absolutely fun read! This story had me captivated from beginning to end and eagerly awaiting the next book! Loved it! Mystery, and magic, with another great female lead!" 5 stars from Tjuliannev

    DESCRIPTION

    India Steele is desperate. Her father is dead, her fiancé took her inheritance, and no one will employ her, despite years working for her watchmaker father. Indeed, the other London watchmakers seem frightened of her. Alone, poor, and at the end of her tether, India takes employment with the only person who'll accept her - an enigmatic and mysterious man from America. A man who possesses a strange watch that rejuvenates him when he's ill.

    Matthew Glass must find a particular watchmaker, but he won't tell India why any old one won't do. Nor will he tell her what he does back home, and how he can afford to stay in a house in one of London's best streets. So when she reads about an American outlaw known as the Dark Rider arriving in England, she suspects Mr. Glass is the fugitive. When danger comes to their door, she's certain of it. But if she notifies the authorities, she'll find herself unemployed and homeless again - and she will have betrayed the man who saved her life.

    With a cast of quirky characters, an intriguing mystery, and a dash of romance, THE WATCHMAKER'S DAUGHTER is the start of a thrilling new historical fantasy series from the author of the bestselling Ministry of Curiosities, Freak House, and Emily Chambers Spirit Medium books.

    KEYWORDS: historical mystery, historical fantasy, victorian era, victorian fantasy, steampunk, historical romance, paranormal romance, romantic fantasy, paranormal fantasy, magic, fantasy mystery, wild west, oulaws, victorian romance, alternate reality, magical realism. Readers have likened The Watchmaker's Daughter to A Discovery of Witches by Deborah Harkness but set in Victorian London, and books by Deanna Raybourn but with gaslamp fantasy.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOz Books
    Release dateJun 28, 2016
    ISBN9781310102950
    The Watchmaker's Daughter
    Author

    C.J. Archer

    Over 3 MILLION books sold!C.J. Archer is the USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestselling author of historical mystery and historical fantasy novels including the GLASS AND STEELE series, the CLEOPATRA FOX MYSTERIES, the MINISTRY OF CURIOSITIES and THE GLASS LIBRARY series.C.J. has loved history and books for as long as she can remember and feels fortunate that she found a way to combine the two. She has at various times worked as a librarian, IT support person and technical writer but in her heart has always been a fiction writer. She lives in Melbourne, Australia, with her husband, 2 children and Coco the black and white cat.Subscribe to C.J.'s newsletter to be notified when she releases a new book, as well as get access to exclusive content and subscriber-only giveaways. Join via her website: www.cjarcher.comFollow C.J. on social media to get the latest updates on her books:Facebook: www.facebook.com/CJArcherAuthorPageTwitter: www.twitter.com/cj_archerInstagram: https://www.instagram.com/authorcjarcher/

    Read more from C.J. Archer

    Related authors

    Related to The Watchmaker's Daughter

    Related ebooks

    Historical Mystery For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      Getting In The Holiday Spirit

      Nov 2, 2023

      Getting In The Holiday Spirit
      3 min read

    • Article

      'Farewell For Now:' Leigh Bardugo On 'Rule Of Wolves'

      Apr 7, 2021

      Leigh Bardugo is winding up her Russian-inflected Grishaverse series (at least for now) with Rule of Wolves, which continues the story of the dashing King Nikolai of Ravka and his demonic interloper.

      3 min read

    • Article

      A Nest Of VIPERS

      Jan 25, 2023

      A Nest Of VIPERS
      9 min read

    • Article

      The plot THICKENS

      Aug 3, 2022

      The plot THICKENS
      8 min read

    • Article

      The Crown JEWELS

      Jun 8, 2022

      The Crown JEWELS
      6 min read

    • Article

      The Leather Coat

      Apr 4, 2024

      The Leather Coat
      6 min read

    • Article

      The Elephant And The Goldfish

      Aug 5, 2021

      The Elephant And The Goldfish
      8 min read

    • Article

      Every CLOUD

      Sep 17, 2024

      Every CLOUD
      6 min read

    • Article

      Tomorrows

      Mar 15, 2022

      The night, as most nights, was like a dream. At ten, once I’d fed the dog the last scraps off the stove. Once I’d cursed the cat for scratching up my mama’s antique furniture, then welcomed him back into my arms. Once I’d slicked my hair into a ponyt

      26 min read

    • Article

      Every CLOUD

      Aug 31, 2022

      Every CLOUD
      6 min read

    • Article

      Haunted

      Sep 27, 2023

      Haunted
      6 min read

    • Article

      A Hard Man To Forget

      Jan 8, 2024

      A Hard Man To Forget
      4 min read

    • Article

      Falling In Love

      Feb 17, 2020

      Falling In Love
      4 min read

    • Article

      Excerpts From The Works Of The 2024 Whiting Award Winners

      Apr 10, 2024

      The 2024 Whiting Award winners were announced Wednesday night. Below are excerpts from their work.

      19 min read

    • Article

      The Bad Housekeeper

      Jul 17, 2020

      The Bad Housekeeper
      5 min read

    • Article

      Lady with A LUTE

      Jul 27, 2022

      Lady with A LUTE
      9 min read

    • Article

      Life In The past Lane

      Aug 27, 2021

      Life In The past Lane
      5 min read

    • Article

      The Italian INFLUENCE

      Jan 19, 2022

      The Italian INFLUENCE
      9 min read

    • Article

      The Man I Should Have Married

      Dec 29, 2019

      The Man I Should Have Married
      11 min read

    • Article

      Groovy!

      Oct 23, 2024

      Groovy!
      9 min read

    • Article

      “Really?”

      Jun 2, 2022

      “Really?”
      6 min read

    • Article

      Decluttering

      Dec 9, 2020

      Decluttering
      6 min read

    • Article

      Show Stoppers

      Sep 19, 2019

      ONE late afternoon in August I popped into the 105th Gilsland Agricultural Show with The Media Queen and Mouse, her Scottish deerhound. Nearby Gilsland was popularised by Sir Walter Scott who arrived in 1797 in search of a wife and found one. As a re

      3 min read

    • Article

      Fancy THAT!

      Apr 24, 2024

      "If you’ve been here for the long haul, you might remember that we have a wealthy friend called Alan, who made a lot of money running a building company and who likes to throw a lavish fancy dress party at his huge house on New Year’s Eve or thereabo

      3 min read

    • Article

      The Traveler

      Oct 1, 2020

      The Traveler
      7 min read

    • Article

      Seeing RED

      Mar 31, 2021

      Seeing RED
      6 min read

    • Article

      Lady with A LUTE

      Aug 3, 2022

      Lady with A LUTE
      9 min read

    • Article

      Let’s Say

      Oct 7, 2022

      I magine a sticky, early August morning, around three o’clock. It is dark, the moon blocked by clouds, no streetlights, a siren in the distance, medics running to a heart attack. Imagine a man out on a bike or walking a sick dog, or maybe a woman who

      10 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for The Watchmaker's Daughter

    4/5

    67 ratings3 reviews

    What our readers think

    Readers find this title engaging, exciting, and entertaining. The main female character is a watchmaker who faces challenges after being betrayed by her fiance. However, some readers found the magic in the book confusing and felt that certain plot points were not well-developed. Despite these criticisms, the book is well-written and engaging, with a mysterious and magical storyline.

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

    • 5/5
      Well written and engaging. Mysterious doings, and discovering that not only is magic real, the watchmaker's daughter realizes she may have some...

      1 person found this helpful

    • 2/5
      The book had a great beginning. I really liked the idea of the main female character being watchmaker who was down on her luck after being betrayed by her fiance but the magic in the book didn't make any sense and there were two major plot points that felt like the author didn't really show the work.

      ***************(((()spoilers)))))*************



      There was no reason given for the main character to believe that the love interest was the Dark Rider. She just believes it for no reason because he's an American in London. Like he was the only dude coming off the boat or something. Also the fact that all the watchmakers that were her father's friends instantly start treating her like crap for no justifiable reason whatsoever after her father died.

      2 people found this helpful

    • 5/5
      This was an engaging, exciting, entertaining, exceptional rare reading experience. I love the Glass and Steele duo! They are a mysterious, magical match made in heaven.

      1 person found this helpful

    Book preview

    The Watchmaker's Daughter - C.J. Archer

    Chapter 1

    London, Spring 1890

    There were several reasons why I fell in love with Eddie Hardacre, but seeing a painter put the finishing touches to E. HARDACRE, WATCHMAKER on the shop front that had been in my family's hands for over a century, I couldn't remember any of them. My former fiancé was worse than a pirate. At least pirates were loyal to their crew. Loyalty was a bartering tool Eddie employed whenever he needed to gain someone's trust. Someone like my poor, foolish dead father. And me.

    It was time to tell Eddie what I thought of him. I'd kept my anger bottled inside for long enough, and if I didn't let it out, I would never heal. Besides, now was the perfect time, as a customer inspected one of Father's watches. Eddie loathed public displays of emotion.

    I would give him the most public of emotional displays that I could.

    I tugged on my jacket lapels, threw back my shoulders, and marched past the gentleman's shiny black coach and into the shop that should have been mine.

    The entrance was as far as I got. The familiarity of my surroundings pinched my heart. The rich scent of polished wood mingled with the subtle tang of metal. The myriad tick tocks, which irritated so many customers after mere minutes inside, summoned a well of memories. The individual rhythms sounded chaotic when placed in one room together but they reassured me that all would be well, that I had come home. It had been two weeks since I'd heard their song. Two weeks since I'd stepped inside the shop. Two weeks since Father died.

    It was time.

    Nothing had changed inside. The counter top stretched across the back, as sleek as ever. Behind it, the door to the workshop was closed. I recognized every clock hanging on the walls and set out on the tables, and all the glass display cabinets seemed to be filled with the same watches, from the inexpensive open faced variety to those with elaborately designed silver cases, known as hunters. Even Father's ancient tortoiseshell and ormolu still ticked to its unique rhythm, but no one had bothered to correct it. It was three minutes slow.

    I'll be with you in a moment, Eddie said without looking up from the watch he was showing the gentleman. Such poor shop-keeping! One should always make eye contact with every customer. A warm smile and pleasant greeting never went amiss, either.

    I was, however, glad that he hadn’t seen me immediately. Excuse me, sir. I addressed the back of the customer's dark head. He did not turn around, but I didn't let that stop me. Excuse me, sir, but unless you wish to finance a liar and swindler, you should not purchase a thing from this man.

    Eddie glanced up with a gasp. The color leached from his face. India! He spluttered a hasty, Excuse me, to his customer and rounded the counter. Arm out to usher me to the door, the color flooded his face as quickly as it had left it. How lovely of you to visit me here, but as you can see, I'm rather busy. I'll call on you later, my dear.

    I ducked beneath his arm, turned so that I could keep him in my sight, and backed toward the counter. I wanted to see Eddie's face turn ruby red as I informed his customer of his despicable behavior. "I am not your dear anymore, and I cannot believe that I ever wanted to be." I used to consider him handsome, with his blond curls and blue eyes, and I'd once thought myself fortunate that he'd chosen me as his bride. My gratitude had been smashed to pieces, along with my future, two weeks ago. Now I thought him one of the ugliest men I'd ever seen .

    India! He lunged for me, but I was ready for him and stepped behind the table holding the collection of small mantel clocks. Come here at once. When I didn't, he stomped his foot on the floor like a spoiled child not getting his way.

    I gave him a tight-lipped smile. If you want me to leave, you will have to catch me first.

    He glanced past me to the gentleman who must have been quite stunned by my shocking behavior. I didn't care what he thought. I had always been known as the prim and proper daughter of Elliot Steele, but recent events had changed me. Let the dusty old men gossip about me at the guild's dining table. It no longer mattered, since I was not connected to the guild through Father or the shop anymore.

    Eddie suddenly dodged to the left. I swerved and moved farther around the table. He growled in frustration.

    I laughed and inched closer, daring him to try again. Part of me wanted him to catch me, so that I could force him to act like the overbearing brute I knew him to be in front of a customer.

    You're making a scene, Eddie hissed.

    Good.

    He licked his lips and his gaze flicked to the gentleman behind me again. He cleared his throat and squared his shoulders, attempting to look as if he were in control. Come now, India, be a good girl and leave this gentleman in peace. He doesn't wish to witness your hysterics.

    I'm a little too old to be called a girl, Eddie, don't you think?

    Quite, he said, his tone grating. Twenty-seven is definitely past the flush of youth.

    He might as well have announced that I was too old to wed. I was surprised he hadn't used it as an excuse to end our engagement, but then again, he'd known my age before he proposed. Nor am I hysterical, I added.

    Eddie smiled. It was all twisted cruelty. I braced myself for his next words. India and I were once engaged, he said to the gentleman who had remained silent behind me. Alas, her rather fanciful and forthright nature only became evident after our betrothal. I suppose I ought to be thankful that she didn't hide her true self until after it was too late. His laugh was as insipid as his pale blue eyes. I had to end our engagement or risk our children becoming afflicted.

    You ended our engagement because you got what you wanted, and what you wanted wasn't me. It was Father's shop.

    I only just heard the gentleman behind me clear his throat over the pounding of blood between my ears. Eddie must have heard it too, and he collected himself. He licked his lips again, a habit that I now despised.

    Sir, I do apologize. Eddie bobbed his head in imitation of the little automated bird that emerged on the hour from the cuckoo clocks. He looked as ridiculous as he was pathetic. India, he snapped at me. Leave! Now!

    I thrust my hand on my hip, smiled, and spun round to speak to the gentleman and make an even bigger scene. An extremely tanned man with dark brown eyes, striking cheekbones and thick lashes stood there. If it weren't for his scowl, and the signs of exhaustion around his mouth and eyes, he would be handsome. He was everything Eddie was not—tall and dark and broad across the shoulders. He wore a well-tailored black suit, untroubled by his impressive frame, a silk hat and gray silk tie. While his clothing screamed gentleman, his stance did not. He leaned one elbow on the counter as if he were half drunk and needed propping up. A gentleman would have straightened in the presence of a woman, but this man didn't. Perhaps he wasn't English. The deep tan would suggest not.

    It took me a moment to remember what I'd been about to say, and in that moment, he spoke first. I have business to conduct with Mr. Hardacre, he said in a flawed upper class English accent. It was plummy enough, but the crispness had been sliced off and replaced by a slight drawl. Please take your argument with you when you leave. He held his hand out, showing me the door.

    I remembered what I wanted to say all of a sudden. Mr. Hardacre is a liar and a scoundrel.

    Eddie made a strangled choking sound.

    So you already pointed out, the customer said. He sounded bored, but that could have been a result of his accent.

    Is that the man you want to give your custom to? I pressed.

    At the present time, yes.

    Eddie chuckled. My hand slid off my hip and fisted at my side. I swallowed down the sense of hopelessness that threatened to overwhelm me. My scheme to discredit Eddie was quickly unraveling before my eyes. Then you're aiding and abetting a man with the morals of a rat. He doesn't care who he ruins to get what he wants, only that he gets it in the end, by whatever means necessary. I heard how pathetic and desperate I sounded, yet I couldn't stop the words from spilling forth anyway. I was tired of holding them in, of smiling and telling acquaintances that I would be all right. I wasn't all right. I was pathetic and desperate. I had no employment, no money, and no home. I'd lost my fiancé and my father, within days of one another, although I'd never really had the fiancé, as it turned out. Our engagement had been a ruse, a way to get Father to sign over the shop to Eddie.

    I am sorry, miss, the gentleman said, sounding genuinely sympathetic.

    I'm sure you are now. Eddie is no better than the muck on your boots.

    He sighed and the tiny lines at the corners of his eyes deepened. No, I mean I'm sorry for doing this.

    Two long strides brought him to me so that I got to admire his impressive height and frame. But not for long. Two large hands clamped around my waist, lifted me, and tossed me over one of those brawny shoulders I'd been admiring.

    What are you doing? I cried. This is outrageous! Let me down at once!

    He did not. With one arm clamped over the backs of my thighs, he strode to the door as if I were nothing more than a sack of flour. The blood rushed to my head. My hat hung by its pins. I pounded his back with my fists, but it had no effect. I was utterly helpless and I did not like being so, one little bit.

    Behind me, Eddie roared with laughter. I felt the gentleman's muscles tense and heard a sharp intake of breath. He didn't slow, however, but merely pushed open the door and deposited me on the pavement. I stumbled and he clasped my shoulders until I regained my balance, then he let me go.

    My apologies, miss, he said with a curt nod. But your conversation was taking too long, and I'm a busy man.

    I fixed my hat and straightened my spine, mustering as much dignity as I could. It wasn't easy with all the shopkeepers and their customers looking out of doors and windows to see what had caused the commotion. I don't care! To my horror, my voice cracked. I did not want to cry. Not anymore. I'd shed enough tears over Eddie and the things I'd lost. I don't care if I make you late for an appointment, or if I cost Eddie your custom. You are a brute! A fiend! You may look like a gentleman, but you most certainly are not one!

    Cyclops, the man said to someone over my shoulder.

    I glanced around to see a giant figure with a black patch over one eye jump nimbly down from the coachman's perch and advance on me. I swallowed a scream and shrank away, but he caught my arm. I tried to pull free but he caught my other arm and his grip tightened. The red, lumpy scar dripping from beneath his patch stood out against his charcoal skin, the white of his teeth even more so as he bared them in a snarl.

    Let me go! I screamed, pulling harder. Mr. Macklefield! Help!

    Mr. Macklefield, the neighboring tailor, took one look at the giant and fled back inside his shop. Up and down the street, shopkeepers shut their doors. Folk I'd known my entire life cowered inside. Even the painter went very still on the top of his ladder, as if he hoped no one would notice him there. No one came to my rescue. I'd never felt more alone or so vulnerable.

    I glanced up at the giant who held both my wrists and blinked back hot tears. Please let me go, I whispered.

    Can't, miss, he said in a booming voice with an accent similar to the gentleman's but from the gutters rather than the townhouse. You just stay out here with me and let Mr. Glass finish his chat.

    I sniffed. So you won't let me go, even if I promise not to go back inside?

    He shook his head.

    I won't be long, the gentleman behind me said.

    I see. I drew in a breath, let it out, and stomped my heel into the giant's boot.

    He winced and his one eye widened, but he didn't let me go.

    The gentleman laughed softly. Good shot.

    The giant grunted. Not bad for a little thing.

    I ought to have been frightened witless, but their light-hearted banter quelled my fear. Not that I felt safe and confident, but I no longer felt like the giant or his master wanted to hurt me.

    Sir, if you please, Eddie said in a sickeningly sycophantic tone. We'll finalize our business inside.

    I need to ask you some questions first, the gentleman, Mr. Glass, said.

    Questions? About the watch? Of course.

    Sir, I said over my shoulder. I had only moments in which to ruin this for Eddie, as he'd ruined so much more for me. Mason And Sons have a finer hunter minute repeater than the one you were admiring in…there. I couldn't bring myself to call it Hardacre Watchmakers. It was still Steele Watchmakers to me and always would be. If you want my advice, you ought to spend your money at that establishment. Not only will you get excellent service, but you'll be supporting an upstanding family.

    India! Eddie shouted. If you don't calm down, I'll send for a constable. He clicked his fingers at Jimmy, the boy who occasionally ran errands for the shopkeepers in the street. He was the only one who'd not retreated indoors, but that would be because Jimmy wasn't allowed in the shops. None of the shopkeepers trusted him not to steal from them. None since Father had died and Eddie had evicted me, that is. He strolled over, hands thrust deep into his pockets, but hung back, clearly not willing to take Eddie's side but unable to do anything to help me.

    I've already been to Mason And Sons, Mr. Glass said to me, ignoring Eddie. "There was nothing to interest me there. I wish to look at this watch."

    Come, sir, Eddie said, grasping Mr. Glass's arm. Mr. Glass narrowed his gaze at him and Eddie let go with a loud swallow. I'll give you a good price on the watch.

    You cannot have been to Mason And Sons, I said to the gentleman. Mr. Mason truly does have a finer example of the same timepiece. I saw it late yesterday, and I doubt he has sold it already.

    Mr. Glass turned a curious expression toward me. Where before he'd looked tired, he was now alert. It was as if he'd just realized something of monumental importance to him—and it involved me. His gaze focused on mine with fierce, driving intensity. It was an unnerving experience to be the object of it, more so than the physical presence of his coachman. If I weren't restrained, I would have left and been glad to have escaped—from what, I didn't know.

    You're familiar with Mr. Mason and his work? he asked me.

    I am. He was both a friend and rival of my father's. Their relationship had been a complicated one. While they respected and liked one another, they had to compete for customers among London's elite. Fortunately there were enough wealthy in the city to keep them, and several other watch and clockmakers, in business. Mr. Mason had been the first person I'd gone to after Eddie had ended our engagement, but he'd not been able to employ me with three sons and a daughter of his own.

    Mr. Glass closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead as if trying to remove an ache. It was so odd, coming after his intense glare, that I checked with his servant to see if he thought it out of character.

    The coachman frowned at his master. Matt? He called his master by his first name? What a peculiar arrangement. Er, sir? You need to…?

    I'm fine, Mr. Glass snapped.

    Don't bloody look fine, the coachman muttered, sounding a little hurt.

    Your father is a watchmaker? Mr. Glass asked me, lowering his hand. He patted his coat, as if feeling for something in the pocket. Perhaps it was snuff or a pipe that he wished to smoke to return the color to his cheeks. He looked quite peaky.

    Was. I spread my hands to indicate the shop windows with the watches set out on the lower shelf and the higher shelves filled with clocks of all shapes and sizes. He owned this establishment under the name Steele until his death, two weeks ago. I swallowed the lump rising up my throat, but the tears welled nevertheless.

    "He left it to me in his will," Eddie cut in quickly.

    Because you assured him that you would keep your promise to marry me, and my fool of a father believed you. I believed you, I choked out. I no longer cared what the gentleman or his servant thought of my behavior. Two weeks ago I'd been too sad and shocked to tell Eddie what I thought of him, but not anymore. I was still sad, but those two weeks had given me time to think. I wasn't shocked now, I was mad.

    I wasn't to know then that you were such a strong-willed creature, Eddie said. If I had, I wouldn't have asked for your hand. Take this display, for example. One doesn't need further evidence of your willfulness.

    Rage surged through my body. I felt like I was burning with it, from the inside out. What I am is the daughter and assistant of Elliot Steele, watchmaker.

    "No, that is what you were. Now you're just…pathetic. Go away, India. Nobody wants you here."

    I gritted my teeth and pulled myself free from the man holding me. To my surprise, he let go. I barged up to Eddie and slapped him across the cheek before he saw my hand coming.

    Eddie reeled back, clutching the side of his face. He stared open-mouthed at me, his expression caught between fear and shock, as if I were a ghastly and strange creature. I suppose, in some ways, I was. I certainly didn't feel like myself at that moment. I felt…lighter, liberated, and yes, very strange indeed.

    Mr. Glass cleared his throat. Miss Steele?

    I smiled at him and his one-eyed servant. The coachman grinned back. Yes, Mr. Glass? I said.

    Would you mind joining me this afternoon in the tea room at Brown's Hotel?

    Me? My smile slipped off. I stared at him. But…why?

    Yes, Eddie muttered. Why her?

    Mr. Glass ignored him. To discuss your father.

    I was trying to decide if it was unseemly to drink tea alone with a strange gentleman in a salubrious hotel, and if I cared about that sort of thing anymore, when Eddie took advantage of my silence. I can tell you everything you wish to know about Elliot Steele. I knew him well.

    Oh, do shut up, Eddie. It seemed I'd thought of something to say after all. I will join you for tea, Mr. Glass. Thank you.

    The brown eyes briefly flared and a small smile touched his lips. It quickly vanished, however, and his jaw went rigid. The muscle bunched and did not release. It was as if he were bearing down against a pain. Unease ate at my gut. I didn't know this man, and he had a rather frightening looking servant, yet I'd agreed to drink tea with him. It would seem today was a day to do things that were out of character for me. I pushed my unease aside.

    We can discuss watches, I said to Mr. Glass, simply to see Eddie's face turn red with anger again. If it's a hunter minute repeater you're after then there are many fine examples in the city. Much finer than here.

    They were your father's timepieces! Eddie cried. That watch is exquisite.

    The regulator pins stick and it loses five seconds every twelve hours. I was never able to fix it.

    You mean your father couldn't, Eddie said smugly.

    "No, I mean I couldn't. I've been doing all the repair work for three years, ever since Father's sight deteriorated."

    "Well then, now it's my turn to repair them. Elliot left me all his notes."

    "They're three years out of date. My notes were not part of the inheritance. I spun on my heel, gave a nod to Mr. Glass and another to his servant, and said, Shall we say three o'clock?"

    Perfect, Mr. Glass said with a smile that momentarily banished the tiredness from his eyes. See you then.

    I walked up the street, feeling as if the entire city watched me. I turned the corner and doubled back, just in time to see Mr. Glass being driven away. He removed his gloves and studied something in his hand. He closed his fingers around it, tipped his head back, and breathed deeply, as if he were finally getting the rest he craved.

    It wasn't this behavior that set my pulse racing, however. It was the object in his fisted hand, and the bright purplish glow it emitted. A glow that infused his skin and disappeared up his sleeve.

    Chapter 2

    Y ou told me yesterday that you would pay me, Mrs. Bray, my landlady, said as she stood in the doorway to my room. And the day before, and the day before that. She folded her arms beneath her large bosom, pushing them up so that they were in danger of choking her, and peered down the length of her narrow nose at me. I'm not a charity, Miss Steele.

    She certainly wasn't. She wanted the rent for the tiny attic room in advance and reminded me every day, when I failed to pay her, that I would have to vacate if I didn't come up with the money. I'd managed to keep the room through a combination of charm and pleading, but I didn't think that tactic would work much longer. Going by the unsympathetic scowl on her pinched face, her patience had worn out.

    The truth was, I hadn't anticipated staying in her lodging house long after Eddie threw me out of my home above the shop the day my father was buried—the very day. I thought I would have secured myself employment as a shop assistant with either a watch or clockmaker by now. But I'd applied in person to every single one in the vicinity, and none had any positions available, although some expressed their sympathies for my plight. Unfortunately I couldn't eat sympathy or sleep on it. I needed to work. Hence my applications to other shopkeepers. So far, three haberdashers, two drapers, four greengrocers, and a chemist refused to employ me without references. I was utterly weary of hearing the word no.

    I understand, Mrs. Bray, I said, mustering some sweetness from God knew where, but I just need one more day. I'm going to apply to be a governess.

    She snorted. That's a laugh.

    Pardon?

    She hiked up her bosom with her folded arms. Toffs employ other toffs as governesses. You're only a shopkeeper's assistant.

    I had been a watchmaker and repairer, actually, but I didn't correct her. No one ever believed me when I claimed my father taught me everything he knew. Not even my friend, Catherine Mason, whose father and three brothers owned Mason And Sons. She'd told me that no honorable father would allow his daughter to get her hands dirty in the workshop. I liked Catherine so I didn't argue the point with her.

    I must try something different, I told Mrs. Bray. "I need employment."

    There's always the workhouse for destitute women.

    I shuddered. The workhouse was for those with no roof over their head, no education, and no other possible means of supporting themselves. Employment there meant a bed to sleep on and food twice a day, albeit a lice-ridden bed and unpalatable gruel. It also meant long hours on the factory floor, risking life and limb with the dangerous machinery, and contending with depraved men who thought the poor women were no better than whores. A perfectly healthy woman I'd been acquainted with had wound up in one after her husband died. When I'd seen her again, a year later, she'd been at death's door, ravaged by syphilis and coughing up blood. The workhouse was a wretched place. It made Mrs. Bray's cold attic room, with the low roof and persistent odor of cat urine, seem like a palace.

    If I couldn't find employment elsewhere, the workhouse was my only choice.

    I collected my gloves and reticule from the bed, but she didn't let me pass. Her sizeable hips filled the doorway. I have to go out for now, I told her, but I'll be stopping by the Governesses' Benevolent Institution on my way back to see if there's any work for an educated woman like myself.

    She rolled her tongue over her top teeth then made a sucking sound. I told you, you won't find anything. You're not the right sort to be a governess.

    I must try.

    You're persistent, I'll give you that. She sucked the air between her teeth again. But you have to pack your things and take them with you.

    I gasped. Are you evicting me?

    I've had inquiries from a gentleman wishing to lease this room. She backed out of the doorway and headed to the stairs in her awkward, rolling gait. You have fifteen minutes.

    But I have nowhere else to go!

    You've got friends. Ask that pretty girl who called on you last week to help.

    I stood at the top of the stairs and stared at her retreating back. The Masons couldn't afford to support me, not with so many of their own mouths

    Enjoying the preview?
    Page 1 of 1