The Watchmaker's Daughter (Glass and Steele #1)(30)

"Is this Chronos?" I asked.

Mr. Glass shook his head. He then told his brief story of the mysterious Chronos and asked Mr. Lawson if he knew of a man similar in age to himself who may have been overseas five years ago.

The more Mr. Glass spoke, the wider the watchmaker's eyes became, and they were already quite wide. I was convinced he knew the fellow Mr. Glass sought.

"Well?" I prompted. "Who is he?"

"Nobody." Mr. Lawson backed up against the wall, knocking a clock hanging there. "I know of no such man."

I looked to Mr. Glass. He nodded gravely. "You're lying to us," I said to Mr. Lawson. "You do know who we're seeking."

He held up his hands and once again his shoulder bumped the clock. It tilted to the right. "I don't! For goodness’ sakes, Miss Steele, I'm an old man. Please leave me be."

"You're an old man who is also a liar. You stole my watch design, entered it into the guild's awards and won. My design, Mr. Lawson. That award should have gone to me."

Mr. Glass's hand touched my lower back. Steadying me? Reassuring me? Preparing to stop me from jumping over the counter?

"Ah. That." Mr. Lawson stroked his mustache again and gave another nervous laugh.

"Yes, that."

"Come now, Miss Steele, there's no need to be upset about something that happened several years ago."

"I am not upset!" I cleared my throat and said, more calmly, "I'm willing to overlook your theft if you—"

"Theft! I wouldn't go that far, Miss Steele. You're being quite hysterical."

I pressed my knuckles on the counter and leaned forward. He flattened himself against the wall, knocking the clock off altogether. It crashed to the floor in a cacophony of splintered wood and a single out-of-tune cuckoo. Mr. Lawson pushed his spectacles up his nose.

"It was theft," I growled. "The guild won't look kindly on you if they learn what you did. Their bylaws state that anyone caught cheating in an awards contest will be thrown out of the guild."

"I…I'm not so sure they would believe you, considering your history with them. It might be seen as sour grapes."

That was the point I hadn't been so confident about, but I'd come this far. I could bluff my way to the end. "It would throw enough doubt in their minds that they would watch you very closely, Mr. Lawson. Now, I'm willing to leave the issue alone, as my father and I chose to do, if you tell us what you know about the fellow Mr. Glass is seeking."

He licked his top lip, dampening his mustache ends that he then proceeded to stroke.

"Come now, Mr. Lawson. I know you know him. You're not that good a liar."

He glanced past me to Mr. Glass. "His name is Mirth. He may or may not be the man you want, but he fits your description. He used to have a shop near here until he traveled overseas some years ago."

"Five years?" Mr. Glass prompted.

Mr. Lawson shrugged. "Perhaps more, perhaps less. The years all blend together at my age."

"Do you know where he went on his travels?" I asked.

"No. He simply shut his shop one day and never re-opened it upon his return."

"The name isn't familiar to me," I said. "He was a watchmaker near here?"

He snorted and pushed his spectacles up his nose again. "You don't know every watchmaker who ever worked in London, Miss Steele."

He had a point. "Where is he now?"

"I heard he was at the Aged Christian Society on Sackville Street, but that was some time ago. He may have passed."

"Where's Sackville Street?" Mr. Glass asked.

"Off Piccadilly."

"I know it," I said.

"Thank you, Mr. Lawson," Mr. Glass said. "You've been very helpful."

"Good day to you." Mr. Lawson cleared his throat and took a step away from the wall. "Miss Steele, do I have your promise not to mention that little incident to anyone at the guild? It was some years ago, after all."

"As long as your information isn't false, I see no reason why I need to speak of it." Father had decided not to make a fuss at the time, and although it galled me that Mr. Lawson had got away with it, Father was probably right. The onus of proof was on us, and I wasn't sure I had enough evidence to convince the biased guild members. "Good day, Mr. Lawson. I do hope your cuckoo clock isn't too damaged."

I walked out with Mr. Glass. "You were excellent in there," he said, as he helped me up the coach step. He was looking tired again, although not exhausted.

"Don't start that again, Mr. Glass," I ground out. "I'm not in the mood for your false niceties."

His jaw hardened. "I wasn't being false." To Cyclops, he said, "Drive to Sackville Street, off Piccadilly." He folded up the step, climbed into the cabin, and sat opposite me. He slammed the door shut.

I thought I'd upset him. Oh well. His moods were of no interest to me. It did mean an unpleasantly awkward journey, however.

It wasn't long before I regretted my outburst. Mr. Glass had seemed sincere, and it was unfair of me to snap at him when I was angry with Mr. Lawson.

"Miss Steele," he said, tearing his gaze away from the window. "I must ask you something about that exchange with Mr. Lawson. Can I, without risk of my head being bitten off?"