The Watchmaker's Daughter (Glass and Steele #1)(8)

"What is the current wage for a shop assistant in London?" he asked.

"One with experience could hope for a pound. I don't know about any other sort of assistant."

"A pound then." He held out his hand. "Deal?"

I shook his hand firmly, as my father had always taught me when shaking a man's hand after a particularly lucrative transaction. "Deal," I repeated, mimicking his accent.

He laughed softly. "Have another cake, Miss Steele. Then let’s begin."

I ate a slice, touched my napkin to the corners of my mouth, and washed it down with a gulp of tea. I wasn't being very ladylike, but I was no lady and he didn't seem to notice.

"Most watchmakers are traditionally located in Clerkenwell and St. Luke's," I said, "but you'll find some scattered elsewhere. My ancestor set up his premises on St. Martin's Lane and we've been there ever since."

"Until your former fiancé took it from you."

I couldn't meet his gaze. It had been one thing to air my dirty linen when I'd been mad at Eddie, but it was quite another to be reminded of my shocking behavior, and by a gentleman too. "My father thought that only a man could manage the business." I don't know why I wanted to explain the situation to him. It seemed important that he know that Father loved me, but he'd been duped. "He liked precision, organization, and neatness, so he changed his will when I became engaged, thinking that Eddie could be relied upon to keep his word. No one expected him to die suddenly before the wedding. And to be fair to Father, Eddie was very sweet up until then. It wasn't until the funeral when he showed what a nasty little worm he was."

Mr. Glass remained silent, and I wished I hadn't blurted out my problems all over again. He must think me as pathetic as I felt. "My mother used to tell me that God would punish people like that after they're dead," he said.

"I wish Eddie would get his come-uppance in this lifetime where I could see it and enjoy it."

One corner of his mouth kicked up. "You and I think alike." He lifted his teacup in salute. Finding it empty, he refilled both mine and his.

"Will you be staying in London long after you've found the old watchmaker?" I heard myself ask with a hint of breathiness in my voice.

He shook his head. "I've business to take care of back home."

Pity. "Tell me what your watchmaker looks like," I said. "Aside from being old, that is."

"He had blue eyes, white hair, and was otherwise non-descript. I got the feeling he was running away from something or someone."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because most folk who end up in Broken Creek, New Mexico, are usually running away from something or someone."

"Is that why you were there, Mr. Glass?"

His eyes twinkled but no smile touched his lips. "I visited for the scenery."

"Is it beautiful?"

"To some."

He didn't elaborate, and I got the feeling he no longer wanted to discuss his past in Broken Creek.

"So tell me which watchmakers you've visited already," I said. "That will narrow our search."

"My lawyer informed me that most live in Clerkenwell, as you yourself noted. I began there this morning." He listed a half-dozen whose names I recognized, although I knew none personally. "I decided to stop in at Masons' and Hardacre's on my way home. Indeed, I was told that it was named Steele's and was surprised to see the painter changing the sign. I'm glad you were there, Miss Steele. Our meeting has an air of fortuitousness about it."

I smiled. "I agree. I've had a good feeling about it ever since our encounter."

"Even when I manhandled you?"

"Perhaps it started after that."

We discussed returning to Clerkenwell's watchmakers, but in the end, decided to investigate the better class of horologists elsewhere in the city. Mr. Glass insisted the man he'd met five years ago had been educated with a middle class accent and not a slum one. After spending most of the morning in Clerkenwell, he'd already learned the difference.

Fortunately I knew most of those watchmakers well, since Father had been friendly with them back when he still liked and respected the guild members. A twang of guilt over my role in his falling out with the guild twisted my gut. He'd fallen out with the other members over my application.

Once the teapot was empty and most of the delicious confections gone, Mr. Glass patted his jacket pocket and stood. The waiter brought hat and gloves, and Mr. Glass paid for the both of us. He escorted me to the hotel entrance, but I hung back to retrieve my valise. I had planned on waiting until he'd gone, but he seemed to be waiting for me to exit first.

"Are you staying here at Brown's?" I asked him.

"No, I have a house not far away," he said.

I didn't ask how someone who'd never set foot on English soil until two days ago could possibly have a house, but perhaps there was a family link somewhere. It would explain part of the accent and the fact he had a lawyer.

"Thank you, Miss Steele. I enjoyed your company today," he said.

Oh dear. He wanted me to leave first. Should I go and come back for my valise after he'd gone, or let him see it and know I was now homeless?

The decision was made for me by the porter I'd met upon entering. He deposited the valise at my feet. "You almost forgot your luggage," he said with a wicked gleam in his eye.