The Watchmaker's Daughter (Glass and Steele #1)(29)

"Any luck?" I asked, the first words either of us had spoken to the other since our frosty discussion. Hopefully it would put an end to the silence.

"None," he said with a sigh. "Mr. Underwood is about the right age, but he's not Chronos. His nose is too large, for starters."

"Did he know anyone who might fit the description?"

"No, but I got the feeling he was lying."

"Why would he lie?"

His gaze flicked to me then outside. He stroked the bottom edge of the window with his finger. "The trick is, how to get him to tell us what he knows."

"Are you quite sure he was lying?"

"Yes." His finger stilled. "Do you know anything about him that we could use as leverage?"

"Leverage? Do you mean to blackmail him?"

I got the feeling he was trying very hard not to roll his eyes. "No, I mean leverage. Blackmail is far more sinister. I don't wish to harm him."

"Just use him."

"Access his information."

"Information he doesn't want to give you."

"Do you, or do you not, know anything about Mr. Underwood that we can use to…encourage him to tell us what he knows?" His tone was far more forceful and less patient than any he'd used with me before. I felt as if I needed to reward him for being himself around me.

"I don't, but I know someone else who may know the fellow Mr. Underwood is referring to."

"Do you think he'll reveal the information?"

"He may. Mr. Glass, is there something about your watchmaker that you're not telling me? Something that gives him a reason to remain anonymous?"

His finger resumed its slow progress along the bottom edge of the window where glass met wood. "Nothing."

"I don't believe you."

His lips flattened. I arched my brow at him in a challenge and he swore quietly. "It's not for me to divulge his reasons. They're his."

I gasped. "Is he an outlaw?"

"No. Now, no more questions, please. It's not my place to give answers. So where can we find this old watchmaker you know?"

"Across the river." I gave him directions and he opened the window and passed them on to Cyclops. Cyclops called back that he could work out the way using his map, thank you very much.

Mr. Glass returned to his seat. "What's the information that I can use as leverage?"

"It'll be better coming from me," I said. "I'll come into his shop with you."

"Is that wise, considering the reaction you received yesterday?"

"He won't try the same trick as Abercrombie."

"How do you know?"

"Because…" I didn't know for certain. The reaction of the other watchmakers on Oxford Street, not just Abercrombie, was unexpected and inexplicable. "He's not nasty like Abercrombie," was all I said. Although after I was through “leveraging” him, he might turn against me.

It took some time to get through the traffic, cross the bridge over the river, and reach Clapham. Cyclops didn't get lost once and pulled up outside Mr. Lawson's shop on High Street. Mr. Glass alighted first and held out his hand to assist me down the coach steps. We'd hardly spoken on the journey, so I made a point of thanking him to break the silence.

I entered first and crossed to the counter where Mr. Lawson sat hunched on a stool, tinkering with a watch. He glanced over his spectacles at me and dropped the watch on the counter. A spring fell out.

"Miss Steele! What are you doing here?"

I picked up his watch and slotted the spring back into place. The watch resumed ticking. I held it out for him, but he simply stared at it, his mouth ajar.

"It was broken!" he cried.

"And I fixed it." I held the watch higher, but still he didn't take it. "The spring just needed to be replaced." I felt like a fool explaining it to him when he would have noticed it falling out, surely.

He shook his head. "That spring wasn't the problem. I've been working on the watch all morning and I couldn't find anything wrong with it, yet it doesn't work."

Perhaps he needed new glasses. I set the watch down on the counter. He picked it up by its chain and moved it to the side, at arm's length. Then he backed away from me.

"My God," he murmured, still staring at me as if I had two heads. "Unnatural."

I felt Mr. Glass's solid presence at my back, very close. It was reassuring, but not enough to banish my curiosity. "Mr. Lawson, why are you afraid of me?"

The old watchmaker fingered the white mustache hiding his top lip. He gave a nervous little laugh. "Afraid of you? Not at all, Miss Steele, not at all. I'm simply…overwhelmed to see you after all this time." He gaze shifted to the watch then back to me. His numerous wrinkles crunched into a deep frown. "Your father and I were hardly friends these last few years."

"No, you weren't."

"What is it you want? I can't offer you employment."

"I don't want to work for you."

He looked relieved.

"This is Mr. Glass," I said. "Mr. Glass, meet Mr. Lawson."

Mr. Glass held out his hand. Mr. Lawson didn't come closer, so Mr. Glass lowered it.