The Watchmaker's Daughter (Glass and Steele #1)(9)

My face flared with heat. "Thank you. So kind of you to collect it for me."

He bowed and left. With a clenching of back teeth, I turned to Mr. Glass. He was frowning at my valise. Since the cat was out of the bag, I might as well give it a further nudge. I had nothing to lose.

"Mr. Glass, may I be so bold as to ask for an advance against wages? It's just that I have expenses, you see, and no other employment at present."

He blinked slowly. "Of course. I'll give you the entire week's wage now. Will that cover expenses?"

An entire week! What a generous fellow. "Most assuredly. Thank you."

He glanced around. "Pretend to grow teary," he said quietly.

It took me a moment to realize he wanted to conduct the transaction in a way that would protect my reputation. I sniffed and touched my finger to my lowered eyes while he surreptitiously folded some coins into his handkerchief. He handed it to me, and I used it to dab away my fake tears before dropping it into my reticule. The transaction was all very clandestine, and I was quite sure no one had noticed and come to the wrong conclusion—or the right one, as the case may be.

"Miss Steele, am I correct in assuming that you're on your way to a new abode today?" He nodded at the valise.

"I'm going to my friend, Catherine Mason's, house." It wasn't quite a lie, and it would be too embarrassing to tell him that I'd been thrown out of the lodging house I'd been staying in for the last two weeks.

"Is that Catherine Mason of Masons And Sons?" he asked. "Does she live above the family shop?"

"Next door. Her eldest brother now lives above the shop with his wife and child. It won't take me long by omnibus."

"If you'd like to wait here, I can have Cyclops drive you."

"Thank you, that is very generous, but I can't possibly impose on you any further. The advancement of wages is more than enough. Besides, the omnibus route isn't far and it's a pleasant day for a walk."

He glanced through the front window at the sky. "You call this a pleasant day? The sky is gray and I feel it's so close that I'll be smothered by it."

"It wouldn't be a London sky if it was blue and high." I picked up my valise and the porter held open the door for me.

Mr. Glass followed me outside and down the steps. "I'll collect you in the morning from the Masons' house," he said, brushing his thumb over his jacket pocket in what struck me as an absent-minded motion. It was at least the third time he'd done it this afternoon. Whatever was in there must be important—perhaps that strange glowing object.

"Be careful of pick pockets," I said.

At his frown, I nodded at his jacket pocket. He placed his hands behind his back. "There's nothing in there," he said stiffly. "Just a handkerchief."

"You carry two?"

"Teary eyed women are common in America."

A bubble of laughter almost escaped, but I swallowed it down. He looked quite serious and more than a little annoyed. I couldn't think how my warning would annoy anyone, but I shrugged it off.

"What time tomorrow?" I asked.

"Is nine too early?"

"Not for me." Clearly he wasn't like other men of his ilk who slept in until noon.

He gave me a curt nod and I went on my way. I couldn't help stealing a glance from the street corner, but Mr. Glass had already left. The omnibus route was indeed close, and I didn't have long to wait before one rattled by. Fortune was smiling on me that afternoon because I managed to get a seat inside, facing a gentleman reading a newspaper. When Father's eyesight deteriorated, I read him the newspaper every evening, but I hadn't bought one since his death. I'd needed to save every penny.

I quickly scanned the front page for something interesting. There were several articles, but one headline stood out above all others: AMERICAN OUTLAW SIGHTED IN ENGLAND.

My chest tightened. My blood ran cold. No, surely not. Surely the handsome and gentlemanly Mr. Glass wasn't an outlaw. Surely his recent arrival here and that of the man depicted in the newspaper's sketch with WANTED printed above it was just a coincidence. It was difficult to tell if they were one and the same from the black and white drawing. The outlaw had a scruffy beard and moustache, and wore a large hat pulled down over his face. That's what an outlaw looked like. He wasn't well dressed and cleanly shaved. Wild West outlaws were filthy and crude. They behaved like…cavemen.

Oh God.

What had I got myself into?





Chapter 3





I read as much of the article as I could before the man and his newspaper alighted from the omnibus. It claimed that very little was known about the outlaw, not even his name. He'd been dubbed Dark Rider by the Las Vegas Gazette because no one had seen his face and his crimes were committed during the night. Dark Rider had held up stagecoaches, stolen horses, and murdered a lawman who'd tracked him down. A colorful account of the aborted arrest took up most of the article, but what caught my eye was the final paragraph. A reward of two thousand dollars was being offered for his capture. I didn't know how much that was in English money but it was an impressive number. It had to be more than the pound's worth of coins now sitting in my reticule. I couldn't stop thinking about it and the outlaw the rest of the way to the Masons' house.