The Watchmaker's Daughter (Glass and Steele #1)(44)

"Where did Harry go?"

"Everywhere. He traveled to exotic lands—Egypt, Turkey, Russia, all over the Orient, Canada and America. He had a small annuity from our mother that funded his travels. She left him this house too, but he never let it out. He may have worked, but his letters never mentioned such things."

Perhaps because he knew his sister thought “such things” vulgar. "He met his wife in America?"

"Charlotte." She folded her hands over her lap where one of Harry's letters lay open. They'd been delivered to the house, along with her belongings, the previous evening. "He adored her. I could tell from his writing that he thought the world of her. But he never wrote about her family and friends. It seems Richard had one of those Pinkerton detectives find out more, but he didn't confide what he'd learned to me. All I knew was that he considered her beneath us."

I didn't remind her that Lord Rycroft accused Charlotte's family of being criminals or mention that my own investigation confirmed it. Nor did I tell her that both Harry and Matthew had probably joined in with the Johnsons’ criminal ways. How else could Harry and Charlotte have funded their travels? How else could they have afforded a good education for Matthew? For he was certainly a well-bred, intelligent man.

"Matthew was born nine months after they married." She picked up the letter in her lap and smiled as she scanned the page. "This one was sent from Zurich." She pointed to another, folded on the table. "That one from Venice. They went everywhere. Matthew was a well-traveled little boy."

"Until he returned to America when he was fifteen."

Her face darkened. Her lashes lowered. "I wish I'd seen Harry one last time before he died. I wish I'd known Charlotte, and met Matthew when he was a boy. He's a fine man, isn't he, Miss Steele? A handsome, strong man."

"He's certainly that."

"Kind too. So like his father." She sighed and closed her eyes. I thought she'd fallen asleep, but she opened them again with a start. "Ring for tea, please, Beatrice."

"I'm India," I said gently. "Not Beatrice."

"Yes, of course you are. Beatrice has a face like a sour hound, but you're so pretty, Miss Steele."

"Please, call me India. I'll fetch some tea."

"Matthew ought to engage servants," she said, unfolding another letter.

"He says he's not staying long, so servants aren't required. He uses charwomen. They're here now."

"I wish you would stop saying he's leaving when he's not."

I pressed my lips together. Disagreeing would only upset her, and it was her nephew's place to disappoint her in this matter, not mine.

"That's one thing I will miss about Richard's home," she said, spreading the letter on her lap.

"What is?"

"My maid. I must offer her a position here."

I left to make tea. Maids were not my area of expertise.

The mail slot in the front door squeaked and a letter dropped through by the postman. It bore an American stamp, but there was no return address on the back. I deposited it on the hall table, but its presence bothered me for the rest of the morning. I handed it to Mr. Glass upon his return in the late afternoon.

I expected him to look tired and pained, since he hadn't come home for luncheon, but he seemed to be in sturdy health. He must have taken the glowing watch with him this time, as he had done that first day I'd met him at my—Eddie's—shop. Perhaps he'd been worried that I would see it on his person and left it at home when we searched for Chronos together. I was glad to see him looking healthy. Illness didn't suit him at all.

"This arrived for you," I said. "Did you have any luck?"

"With what, Miss Steele?" he asked, checking the envelope.

"With finding the intruder."

He glanced up. "What makes you think we were looking for him?"

I arched my brows.

He grunted. "All is well. Please don't alarm yourself. I won't see any harm come to you or my aunt while you're under my protection."

It was quite a noble little speech, and it rendered me senseless for a moment. It had been some time since Father had been capable of protecting me, and for the last few years, I was the one taking care of him. I wasn't sure how to react to Mr. Glass's reassurance.

"Is my aunt well?" he asked.

"She is." I cleared my throat. "You'll also find there is a new addition to the household."

"Who?"

"Her ladies’ maid. Miss Glass reinstated her this afternoon. She assures me her wages will be paid from her own funds."

"Money isn't a problem," he said absently, tearing open the envelope. His face hardened as he read, then re-read, the letter. "Excuse me." He left before I could ask him about our search for Mirth.

Miss Glass had retired for an afternoon nap and I found myself at a loose end. I'd already fixed the dining room clock, so decided to inspect the others in the house. The long case clock was in good working order, so I simply dusted out the housing and moved on to the other timepieces I'd spotted in other rooms. The brass Rococo in the music room simply required winding, and the lovely four glass clock in the drawing room was in perfect working order. I pulled out its mechanisms anyway to clean them, simply for something to do and to admire such fine workmanship. Tears sprang to my eyes as I set all the pieces back into place again. I might never work with clocks and watches again, never get to admire the fine craftsmanship that went into them, or the precise cohesion of the many parts to make something both beautiful and functional. I allowed my mind to wander as I worked and simply feel instead.