The Watchmaker's Daughter (Glass and Steele #1)(57)

"May I take the tray for you, miss?" she asked.

"No, thank you. And please, Polly, there's no need to curtsy every time you see me." Although I'd been introduced to her as Mr. Glass's employee, she'd treated me as a member of the family ever since. I suppose the rules in this household were unclear, to her and to me, and she thought it safer to be submissive to all of us.

She continued on her way up and I continued on my way down. Mr. Glass's deep voice rumbled from the direction of the kitchen, but I couldn't quite make out the words. As I drew closer, I heard Cyclops's even deeper voice respond quite clearly.

"Better for her that she doesn't know what you are? Or better for you?" he asked.

I stilled, hardly daring to breathe. It sounded like Cyclops was rebuking Mr. Glass for not answering my question about his business affairs over breakfast. I shouldn't eavesdrop— Bollocks. Yes, I should. If I wanted to learn more about the people I was living with, I had to resort to underhanded methods. I inched closer.

"It's not what I am," Mr. Glass said, "but what I've done. I don't want her to know." This last was added quietly. I had to strain to hear him. "Answering her question would have inevitably led to…that."

"Why don't you want her to know?"

"Why do you think?" he snarled. "Aunt Letitia too. Don't tell either of them."

"It happened years ago. It's in the past, buried and forgotten."

"Then why does it follow me everywhere, even here and now?"

Their silence was punctured only by the sound of liquid being poured. I was about to walk into the kitchen, when Mr. Glass spoke again.

"She's keeping a secret too. The watchmakers are wary of her. She must know why."

Now that I resented. I didn't have a clue why they shunned me.

But it was time I found out.





Chapter 12





I headed out at the same time as Mr. Glass, accepting a ride in his carriage to the Masons' St. Martin's Lane shop and house. Mr. Glass paid me little attention. His nose was glued to the windows, watching for signs of someone following us, I suspected. If he spotted anyone, he didn't say so to me or Duke who rode with us. Willie hadn't risen by the time we departed, so he'd left her home.

"Enjoy your day, Miss Steele," Cyclops called down as I alighted from the carriage.

I clamped a hand to my hat to stop it falling off as I peered up at him. "You too, Cyclops."

Mr. Glass tugged on his hat brim. "I'll see you for dinner."

The coach rumbled away. It hadn't even reached the corner when Catherine burst out of the house like an excited puppy. She threw her arms around me, almost knocking me over.

"India! It's so good to see you." She clasped my hand and dragged me toward the door. "I've been dying to tell you something."

"What?"

She pushed the door closed and took both my hands in hers. Her grin split her flushed face. "You'll never believe it, but John Wilcox has come calling."

"Who?"

"John Wilcox! The manager from the steelworks factory."

"I remember him now." I'd run occasional errands to the steelworks factory when I'd needed supplies over and above our regular delivery. "Do you mean to say he's calling here with a view to courting you?"

"Yes! Isn't it thrilling?"

Clearly she thought it thrilling, since she couldn't stand still. Her fingers kneaded mine and she bounced on her toes. I wasn't as thrilled as her. John Wilcox was in his thirties and rather dour in nature. I couldn't imagine him keeping up with such an energetic person as Catherine. I hoped he didn't stifle her. Of course, it may not get to that stage. Surely she'd tire of him first.

"India?" Mrs. Mason emerged from the kitchen, wringing her hands in her apron. "I didn't know you were stopping by today."

"My visit wasn't planned," I said, smiling.

"Well. You're welcome, of course. I've just baked fresh butter biscuits." She returned to the kitchen, leaving me staring at her back. She'd never been an enthusiastic person, like Catherine, but she'd always been welcoming. While she wasn't rude this time, she wasn't keen to see me either. Something had changed. Perhaps her husband had finally confided in her about whatever it was that troubled him—whatever was troubling all the watchmakers.

"He's quite distinguished, don't you think?" Catherine said, once again taking my hand and pulling me after her. We didn't head to the kitchen, however, but to the sitting room.

"Ye-es," I said. "I suppose he does look distinguished." If a little thick in the middle and around the jaw. And in the head.

"And he says I'm the most agreeable young woman he's ever met. He smiled as he said it. Most flirtatious."

"Agreeable? That's what he gave as his main reason for courting you?"

"I know! It's quite a compliment, isn't it? And we're not courting yet, India. Steady on. He has only said that he'll call on me."

"Catherine, do promise you'll be careful. Don't jump at the first proposal you get." Unlike me. "I'm sure there'll be others."