The Watchmaker's Daughter (Glass and Steele #1)(75)

Nunce scratched his ragged beard. "Where can I find him?"

"Near Piccadilly, but I don't know exactly where. And even that might have been a lie."

"Why should I believe you, miss? Perhaps you're trying to trick me into releasing Mr. Glass, here. What evidence do you have of the Dorchster fellow's guilt?"

"He used the word ruckus."

He gave me a blank look. "So?"

"Ruckus is an American word, and Mr. Dorchester claimed to be English. From Manchester, in fact, although his accent was all wrong. I should have guessed from the beginning, but I…I wanted to believe him."

I couldn't meet Matt's gaze. I didn't want him seeing my shame. I'd wanted to believe that Mr. Dorchester liked me for me and not because I could give him something. I was such a bloody fool. Once again, I'd been blinded by charm and my own pathetic need to be liked. The truth stung but it didn't bring tears; only anger and a resolve to make Dorchester pay for his crimes.

"A word?" Nunce grunted. "That's not evidence, miss. Go on. Out you go."

"India?" The concern in Matt's quiet voice had me looking up as Constable Stanley took my elbow. "Will you be all right?"

I straightened my spine. "Of course. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have a commissioner to visit before he goes home for the day."

Matt smiled.

Constable Stanley escorted me to the station's entrance, but I stopped dead in the doorway. Mr. Dorchester stood at the counter, speaking with the bobby on duty. "That's him," I whispered, grasping Constable Stanley's sleeve. "That's the real Dark Rider."

The pimply faced youth eyed Dorchester. "You sure, miss?"

"Of course. Arrest him."

He glanced back at the door now shut behind us. "You heard the inspector. One word isn't enough to arrest a man. Besides, he looks decent enough to me."

"Can you not question him? Ask him what river flows through Manchester, or some other fact about the city that a resident should know."

"What river flows through Manchester?"

I sighed. "The Irwell. Go on. Speak to him."

He didn't budge despite my push. "I must follow the inspector's orders, but I'll get his current address off him, if that'll satisfy you."

I was about to tell him that it wouldn't when Dorchester suddenly looked our way. My heart leapt into my throat. I tried not to react, but he must have seen something in my face because he did not smile in greeting as the kind Mr. Dorchester would have done. He scowled at the constable at my side.

"Go on," I said to the young bobby. "Go and speak with him now."

I walked off and nodded a greeting at Dorchester as I passed him. He touched the brim of his hat. The exchange was so stilted and formal that I suspected he knew exactly why I was there and what I thought of him.

I rushed out, determined to get far away from him as quickly as possible. The sun had dropped behind the buildings, shrouding the street in eerie gray-green shadows. I glanced over my shoulder, but Dorchester had not emerged from the police station.

I turned on to busy Piccadilly Street, where I blended in with the other pedestrians heading home or to railway stations and omnibus stops after work. There were many routes to Victoria Embankment from Vine Street, some of which would have brought me to New Scotland Yard faster, but I remained on the busier streets for safety. Even though several glances over my shoulder proved that Dorchester wasn't following me, I didn't want to take the risk.

There was something comforting about the imposing edifice of the clock tower that housed Big Ben in its belfry. It was visible beyond the new headquarters of the Metropolitan Police, and stood confidently amid the bustle of carriages, carts and pedestrians below, just as it had done all my life. My father used to bring me to see it and explain how the giant clock operated on the same principles as my own pocket watch.

A pocket watch that suddenly chimed in my reticule. A watch that had never chimed before and wasn't designed to.

I opened my reticule, but something smacked into me from behind, propelling me forward. It happened so fast, that I managed nothing more than a gasp before a gloved hand clamped over my mouth. In the inky shadows of a deep recessed doorway, he pressed my back against the cold bricks. Although I couldn't see his face, the man had the same height, build and scent of Dorchester. He must have known I would come here, and he had taken a quicker route.

"You stupid fool," he growled in a low voice that was very different to the one I was familiar with. It was hard and cruel with an American accent. "You should have kept your nose out of Glass's business. Out of my business."

How had I ever liked this man? I certainly was a fool to believe his story. I struggled against him but he was too strong, pressing his weight against me, grinding my shoulder blades into the stones. His gloved hand muffled my cries and, after a busy burst of traffic, the pavement was now empty of pedestrians.

Panic rose to my throat. I kicked out but my damned skirts got in the way. He pressed himself against me more, blocking my legs so that I couldn't kick at all. I was pinned against the wall, unable to move or make a sound.

"If you'd stayed out of it, I could have finally got my revenge on that scum. Yes, it was me who told the police he was the Dark Rider. It was the perfect plan. He gets arrested and tried here, well away from the friends who can help him. But then I learn he has the commissioner in his pocket too, so I know I have to act fast before he's released. I went to the police station to give him my parting gift." A click echoed around the stone doorway, followed by the whine of metal on metal. Something sharp bit into my neck above my collar. He had a knife—his "gift" to Matt, intended to go straight through his heart, no doubt.