The Watchmaker's Daughter (Glass and Steele #1)(17)

He walked on apace and I thought the conversation ended, when he said, "They would have had their sport with you, Miss Steele, before they handed you over to the authorities."

"How do you know that?" But even as I said it, I knew he was right. I'd seen it in the eyes of the man who'd approached me. I shivered and folded my arms over my chest. "Thank you, again, for helping me escape."

"There's no need to thank me."

"There is. I'm also sorry you got involved."

"If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't have been there in the first place. It's as much my fault."

His logic was a little broken since he couldn't have known the reception I'd get. "I still don't understand why Mr. Abercrombie would do such a thing. Why accuse me of stealing?"

"That's what I'd like to know," he muttered so quietly that I almost didn't hear.

"I haven't seen him in years and the whole guild saga resolved itself in his favor. I ought to be the angry one, not him."

"You'll have to explain this guild system to me at home. It's not the first time you've mentioned it."

We entered Park Street and checked up and down the street before advancing.

"Thank goodness you're not known here," I said. "Or the police would be knocking on your door by now." I was safe while I resided with Mr. Glass and kept away from Oxford Street, but once our business was concluded, I would need to be careful. While the Masons wouldn't believe Abercrombie if he told them I stole, I didn't want to involve them if I could help it. "I hope Mr. Abercrombie doesn't get it into his head to search for me and continue with the ridiculous accusation of theft."

"I'll take care of Abercrombie," Mr. Glass said.

"Take care of him how?"

"Leave it to me."

Did he mean to harm Abercrombie? Or threaten him, Wild West style?

I didn't get a chance to ask again. We'd reached number sixteen, a red and cream brick townhouse that stretched up to the gray sky. I peered over the black iron fence running alongside the steps down to the service entrance. The blinds were down and no light rimmed them. It mustn't be the charwoman's day.

Mr. Glass's knock on the main door was answered by a footman or butler. I couldn't tell which because only his head appeared around the door, as if he were hiding the rest of himself.

"It's only you," the man said, opening the door wider. "Just as well. I ain't dressed proper yet."

"Why not?" Mr. Glass said. "It's almost midday. What if we'd had callers?"

"We ain't."

"But we might have." He stepped aside to allow me to pass.

The man, who wore trousers, a shirt and waistcoat only, straightened to his full height. He was only a little taller than me, with a blocky build, square face, and a crooked nose. His two small eyes sparkled like sapphires as they scanned me from head to toe. I felt very conspicuous with my unbuttoned dress beneath my waistcoat.

"Is that her?" he asked in an accent similar to Cyclops's.

"This is Miss Steele, yes. Miss Steele, this is Duke, my butler. Or footman."

"Both?" I said, smiling. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Duke. Is that a first name, last or title?"

"It's just Duke." He grunted. "Why'd you bring her back here?"

Mr. Glass pushed past him. "Butlers and footmen don't ask questions."

Duke gave another grunt and eyed me from beneath a ponderous brow.

"Miss Steele will be staying here until her work with me is complete."

"But—"

"It's not up for discussion." Mr. Glass rounded on him. "Is that understood? Not a word."

Duke's lips pressed together, but only for a second. "You look dog tired, M— sir." He glanced at me again, focusing on my chest. I hadn't laced myself tightly and my gown was still undone beneath my waistcoat. He must know. "You were supposed to inquire about the watchmaker, not frolic with the lady who's supposed to be helping you."

"Duke!" Mr. Glass snapped.

"I said frolic, not fu—"

"DUKE!"

Duke chuckled. I did my best to look shocked, but it was difficult to keep a straight face. Mr. Glass looked terribly embarrassed, and I'd never witnessed a servant speak so insolently to his master. I didn't think his behavior could be put down to being American. The more servants of Mr. Glass's I met, the more convinced I was that he wasn't truly their employer, but merely acting a role. Perhaps he was their gang leader.

That thought wiped the smile off my face. I swallowed heavily and folded my arms over my chest again. I was beginning to have serious doubts about staying in the house. It had been one thing to sleep under the same roof as Mr. Glass, knowing that Cyclops probably slept in the stables, but quite another knowing this ruffian wouldn't be far away from my bedroom either.

"You've offended Miss Steele," Mr. Glass said to Duke. "Apologize." When Duke hesitated, Mr. Glass whipped out the butcher's knife.

I swallowed my scream and covered my mouth with my hands.

Duke merely grunted again. "Apologies, miss. It was just a joke."

Mr. Glass tossed the knife to his man. Duke caught it easily by the handle. "That might come in handy in the kitchen," Mr. Glass said.