Emma Holloway - A Study in Ashes

Her chin trembled, so she bit her bottom lip to stop it. Then she grabbed her pillow, squeezing it because she needed something to hold on to. It smelled like licorice and the sweet perfume she liked, and that calmed her a little.

All she’d been able to figure out before Lord Bancroft exiled her upstairs was that Tobias was in trouble. Extreme trouble—bad enough that he had to go away to a part of the country where no one would go looking. Of course, no one would tell her why. If the Gold King had his way, her brother would leave without even saying good-bye.

But Tobias can’t go. We need him here . What if he hadn’t been there the night the Scarlet King and his bird had come to the party, and when the Scarlet King had caught her just outside her father’s study? That whisky breath of Reading’s didn’t bear thinking about, and the thought of what he might have got up to next frightened her down to her shoe buckles. She’d turn to Tobias a hundred times over before going to her parents. Her father never had time for his children, and her mother wished she were somebody else.

Poppy rolled to a sitting position, tossing the pillow aside. The feather mattress was soft, the bed frame high, and that made sitting straight nearly impossible, so she ended up in an uncomfortable slouch, her feet not quite touching the floor. That made her feel six years old, so she squirmed off the bed and went to sit in the old rocking chair in the corner.

Much better—she needed to be straight and firm and clearheaded. Something momentous was going on and she had to figure out what it was. More than that, she needed to decide if there was a thing she could do about it. She’d never been a delicate miss and now was definitely not the time to resort to smelling salts and the fainting couch.

What on earth had Tobias done? It couldn’t be evil , because though Tobias was sometimes an idiot, he wasn’t wicked. And he wouldn’t leave home without seeing her. Whatever happened, it made Mr. Keating nervous and angry, but underneath that was another look, like he’d just won at cards. Is that good or bad?

The longcase clock on the landing struck the hour, the bong making her start because it just didn’t sound right anymore. Her foul mood was fraying at the edges—no less bitter, but the sharpness of it was strained by an anxious knot inside. First Im and Evelina and now my brother gone from the house. I’m going to be alone . She felt like the last chicken in the yard, and the stew pot was creeping closer.

Then she heard a faint scritch-scritch at the door. Poppy stopped rocking her chair, and she heard it again. She stood and softly crossed the floor, pulling open the door. There was no one there. She frowned into the empty space until she felt something cold brush her leg—cold enough to feel right through her stockings.

She gasped and sprang back, doing an inelegant, one-footed hop. And then she spied the mouse. “You!”

The mouse sat up on its haunches, looking up at her with sharp black eyes. Poppy glowered back, her hands on her waist. Evelina had given the mechanical mouse and bird to Imogen, and they were supposed to be simple novelty toys—but Poppy knew better. She’d seen the little menace scooting all over the house, its etched steel fur almost invisible in the shadows.

But since Imogen fell ill, the things had been stiff and still as—well—toys. Poppy had even picked them up and shaken them to see if they were broken inside, beginning to doubt what she’d seen. Her mother wasn’t entirely wrong when she said Poppy had a hectic imagination.

But now here the mouse was, back to its old self. “You are a shameful playactor!”

The mouse put its forepaws on its middle, mimicking her pose.

“Why did you pretend you weren’t alive? You made a right fool out of me!”

It started cleaning its fine wire whiskers, obviously unconcerned by her outrage.

Poppy huffed a sigh, thinking she didn’t have time for mice while Tobias was in trouble—though the notion that there was still one marvelous thing at Hilliard House made her feel much, much better. Lots of people were terrified of magic but she was curious. And the mouse wasn’t exactly terrifying.

“How might I help you, Mr. Mouse?”

It dropped to all fours and skittered from the room on silent paws. The thing never seemed to make noise unless it wanted to. Poppy leaned out of her doorway, remembering she’d been told to stay put, and looked around to see where the mouse had gone. She caught a glimpse of its tail snaking into Imogen’s room. Surely her father wouldn’t object if she looked in on her ailing sister. Not even he was that much of a stickler for obedience. She decided to take the risk and slipped out of her bedroom, closing the door behind her, and tiptoed down the hall.

Imogen’s room was the same as ever, the blue tones cool and serene in the afternoon light. Imogen was exactly where she always was, looking like a fairy-tale princess in her bower. As usual, there was a nurse in Imogen’s room—but it wasn’t the one she was used to seeing. Poppy froze, disliking strangers near Imogen.

“I don’t know you,” Poppy snapped, fear and anger flaring. “Where is Nurse May?”

The woman turned. She was wearing a dark gray dress and white apron, and her gray hair was pulled back beneath a white cap, a few frizzy wisps escaping to frame her face. She smiled reassuringly, then bent to let the mouse run into her hand. “You must be Poppy,” she said. “My name is Nurse Barnes.”

Poppy frowned, watching her stroke the mouse’s back with her finger as she straightened. “Why are you here? Are you a real nurse?”

“Nurse May required a day off, and a mutual friend arranged it so that I could take her place. I believe you know Dr. Watson? And Mr. Holmes?”

“Mr. Holmes? Yes, I asked him for help, but …” Poppy squinted at the woman, distrust now warring with excitement. “He was going to send someone, um, someone else.”

She didn’t want to say Madam Thalassa because there was no telling who might be listening. After all, Jasper Keating was in the house, and he always brought minions.

The woman smiled. “My friends know me by one name and my clients by another. Miss Barnes is what my friends call me, but I do have another name.”

Poppy nearly staggered as the thought sunk home. This is Madam Thalassa? But Keating is here! Of all the times for a magic user to come to her house! This is dangerous . Poppy bit her lip. But better than any book . This was real, and it was happening right here and now!

Holy hat ribbons! Mr. Holmes kept his promise! Poppy stepped closer, pulling Imogen’s door shut behind her. “How do you do, Miss Barnes, I’m very pleased that you could come.”

“It was the least I could do, Miss Roth. Mr. Holmes doesn’t ask for help without a good reason.”

“And I appreciate that with all my heart, but this isn’t the best day to call, with the Gold King in the drawing room downstairs.”

The woman gave a dismissive look in the direction of the door. “He wouldn’t know magic if a flock of fairies were taking a bath in his whisky glass. I have a demanding schedule, and had to come when I could.”

“But aren’t you worried about getting caught?”

Miss Barnes narrowed her eyes. “I’m not the nervous type.”

The mechanical bird, bright with jeweled feathers, flew to Miss Barnes’s shoulder and settled there with an odd mechanical chirp. Poppy watched, so fascinated she almost forgot everything else. She’d never actually seen the bird fly before. “How did you make them work?”

The woman smiled, dumping the mouse into Poppy’s hand. The little creature padded about on velvet-tipped paws, its cold little body plump and round against Poppy’s fingers. She was utterly charmed.